LIBRARY 

University  of 

California 

Irvine 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

IRVINE 

GIFT  OF 
John  and  Mary  Prescott 


THE  MAJOR 

RALPH    CONNOR 


SHE  LAID  HIS  HEAD  DOWN,  RAN  A  HUNDRED  YARDS 
TO  THE  WHEAT  FIELD,  RETURNING  WITH  TWO 
SHEAVES  AND  MADE  A  SUPPORT  FOR  HIS  HEAD  AND 
SHOULDERS. 


THE  MAJOR 


By  RALPH  CONNOR 


AUTHOR  OF 

'The  Patrol  of  the  Sun  Dance  Trail,"     Etc. 


With   Frontispiece 
By  F.   ROGERS 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 


Publishers 


New  York 


Published  by  Arrangements  with  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


PK 

&0/3 
OS 


COPYRIGHT,  1917. 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DOR/.N  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


,      CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  COWARD n 

II  A  FIGHT  FOR  FREEDOM 24 

HI  THE  ESCUTCHEON  CLEARED 36 

IV  SALVAGE 47 

V  WESTWARD  Ho! 60 

VI  JANE  BROWN 72 

VII  THE  GIRL  OF  THE  WOOD  LOT 91 

Vin  You  FORGOT  ME 112 

IX  EXCEPT  HE  STRIVE  LAWFULLY 128 

X  THE  SPIRIT  OF  CANADA 137 

XI  THE  SHADOW  OF  WAR 151 

XII  MEN  AND  A  MINE 171 

XIII  A  DAY  IN  SEPTEMBER 184 

XIV  AN  EXTRAORDINARY  NURSE 198 

XV  THE  COMING  OF  JANE 213 

XVI  HOSPITALITY  WITHOUT  GRUDGING 228 

XVII  THE  TRAGEDIES  OF  LOVE 244 

XVIII  THE  VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 255 

XIX  THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  DOOR 277 

XX  THE  GERMAN  TYPE  OF  CITIZENSHIP  ....  287 

XXI  WAR 307 

XXH  THE  TUCK  OF  DRUM 332 

XXIII  A  NEUTRAL  NATION 348 

XXIV  THE  MAJOR  AND  THE  MAJOR'S  WIFE  ....  363 

v 


THE  MAJOR 


THE  MAJOR 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   COWARD 

SPRING  had  come.  Despite  the  many  wet  and  gusty 
days  which  April  had  thrust  in  rude  challenge  upon 
reluctant  May,  in  the  glory  of  the  triumphant  sun  which 
flooded  the  concave  blue  of  heaven  and  the  myriad  shaded 
green  of  earth,  the  whole  world  knew  to-day,  the  whole 
world  proclaimed  that  spring  had  come.  The  yearly 
miracle  had  been  performed.  The  leaves  of  the  maple 
trees  lining  the  village  street  unbound  from  their  winter 
casings,  the  violets  that  lifted  brave  blue  eyes  from  the 
vivid  grass  carpeting  the  roadside  banks,  the  cherry  and 
plum  blossoms  in  the  orchards  decking  the  still  leafless 
trees  with  their  pink  and  white  favours,  the  timid  grain 
tingeing  with  green  the  brown  fields  that  ran  up  to  the 
village  street  on  every  side — all  shouted  in  chorus  that 
spring  had  come.  And  all  the  things  with  new  blood  run- 
ning wild  in  their  veins,  the  Iambs  of  a  few  days  still 
wobbly  on  ridiculous  legs  skipping  over  and  upon  the 
huge  boulders  in  farmer  Martin's  meadow,  the  birds 
thronging  the  orchard  trees,  the  humming  insects  rioting 
in  the  genial  sun,  all  of  them  gave  token  of  strange  new 
impulses  calling  for  something  more  than  mere  living 
because  spring  had  come. 

Upon  the  topmost  tip  of  the  taller  of  the  twin  poplars 
that  flanked  the  picket  gate  opening  upon  the  Gwynnes' 
little  garden  sat  a  robin,  his  head  thrown  back  to  give  full 
throat  to  the  song  that  was  like  to  burst  his  heart, 

11 


12  THE  MAJOR 

monotonous,  unceasing,  rapturous.  On  the  door  step 
of  the  Gwynnes'  house,  arrested  on  the  threshold  by  the 
robin's  song,  stood  the  Gwynne  boy  of  ten  years,  his 
eager  face  uplifted,  himself  poised  like  a  bird  for  flight. 

"Law-r-ence,"  clear  as  a  bird  call  came  the  voice  from 
within. 

"Mo-th-er,"  rang  the  boy's  voice  in  reply,  high,  joyous 
and  shrill. 

"Ear-ly!    Remember!" 

"Ri-ght  a-way  af-ter  school.  Good-bye,  mo-ther, 
dear,"  called  the  boy. 

"W-a-i-t,"  came  the  clear,  birdlike  call  again,  and  in 
a  moment  the  mother  came  running,  stood  beside  the  boy, 
and  followed  his  eye  to  the  robin  on  the  poplar  tree.  "A 
brave  little  bird,"  she  said.  "That  is  the  way  to  meet 
the  day,  with  a  brave  heart  and  a  bright  song.  Good- 
bye, boy."  She  kissed  him  as  she  spoke,  giving  him  a 
slight  pat  on  the  shoulder.  "Away  you  go." 

But  the  boy  stood  fascinated  by  the  bird  so  gallantly 
facing  his  day.  His  mother's  words  awoke  in  him  a 
strange  feeling.  "A  brave  heart  and  a  bright  song" — 
so  the  knights  in  the  brave  days  of  old,  according  to  his 
Stories  of  the  Round  Table,  were  wont  to  go  forth.  In 
imitation  of  the  bird,  the  boy  threw  back  his  head,  and 
with  another  cheery  good-bye  to  his  mother,  sprang  clear 
of  the  steps  and  ran  down  the  grass  edged  path,  through 
the  gate  and  out  onto  the  village  street.  There  he  stood 
first  looking  up  the  country  road  which  in  the  village  be- 
came a  street.  There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  except  that 
in  the  Martin  orchard  "Ol'  Martin"  was  working  with 
his  team  under  the  trees  which  came  in  rows  down  to  the 
road.  Finding  nothing  to  interest  him  there,  he  turned 
toward  the  village  and  his  eyes  searched  the  street.  Op- 
posite the  Gwynnes'  gate,  Dr.  Bush's  house  stood  back 
among  the  trees,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  life  about  it. 
Further  down  on  the  same  side  of  the  street,  the  Widow 
Martin's  cottage,  with  porch  vine  covered  and  windows 
bright  with  flowers,  hid  itself  under  a  great  spreading 


THE  COWARD  13 

maple.  In  front  of  the  cottage  the  Widow  Martin  her- 
self was  busy  in  the  garden.  He  liked  the  Widow  Mar- 
tin but  found  her  not  sufficiently  exciting  to  hold  him  this 
spring  morning.  A  vacant  lot  or  two  and  still  on  the 
same  side  came  the  blacksmith's  shop  just  at  the  cross- 
roads, and  across  the  street  from  it  his  father's  store. 
But  neither  at  the  blacksmith's  shop  nor  at  the  store 
across  from  it  was  there  anything  to  awaken  even  a 
passing  interest.  Some  farmers'  teams  and  dogs,  Pat 
Larkin's  milk  wagon  with  its  load  of  great  cans  on  its 
way  to  the  cheese  factory  and  some  stray  villagers  here 
and  there  upon  the  street  intent  upon  their  business.  Up 
the  street  his  eye  travelled  beyond  the  crossroads  where 
stood  on  the  left  Cheatley's  butcher  shop  and  on  the  right 
McKenny's  hotel  with  attached  sheds  and  outhouses. 
Over  the  bridge  and  up  the  hill  the  street  went  straight 
away,  past  the  stone  built  Episcopal  Church  whose  spire 
lifted  itself  above  the  maple  trees,  past  the  Rectory,  solid, 
square  and  built  of  stone,  past  the  mill  standing  on  the 
right  back  from  the  street  beside  the  dam,  over  the  hill, 
and  so  disappeared.  The  whole  village  seemed  asleep 
and  dreaming  among  its  maple  trees  in  the  bright  sun- 
light. 

Throwing  another  glance  at  the  robin  still  singing  on 
the  treetop  overhead,  the  boy  took  from  .his  pocket  a 
mouth-organ,  threw  back  his  head,  squared  his  elbows 
out  from  his  sides  to  give  him  the  lung  room  he  needed, 
and  in  obedience  to  a  sharp  word  of  command  after  a 
preliminary  turn,  turn,  turn,  struck  up  the  ancient  triumph 
hymn  in  memory  of  that  hero  of  the  underground  rail- 
road by  which  so  many  slaves  of  the  South  in  bygone 
days  made  their  escape  "up  No'th"  to  Canada  and  to 
freedom. 

"Glory,  glory,  hallelujah,  his  soul  goes  marching  on." 
By  means  of  "double-tongueing,"  a  recently  acquired  ac- 
complishment, he  was  able  to  give  a  full  brass  band  effect 
to  his  hymn  of  freedom.  Many  villagers  from  door  or 
window  cast  a  kindly  and  admiring  eye  upon  the  gallant 


14  THE  MAJOR 

little  figure  stepping  to  his  own  music  down  the  street. 
He  was  brass  band,  conductor,  brigadier  general  all  in 
one,  and  behind  him  marched  an  army  of  heroes  off  for 
war  and  deathless  glory,  invisible  and  invincible.  To  the 
Widow  Martin  as  he  swung  past  the  leader  flung  a  wave 
of  his  hand.  With  a  tender  light  in  her  old  eyes  the 
Widow  Martin  waved  back  at  him.  "God  bless  his 
bright  face,"  she  murmured,  pausing  in  her  work  to 
watch  the  upright  little  figure  as  he  passed  along.  At  the 
blacksmith's  shop  the  band  paused. 

Tink,  tink,  tink,  tink, 
Tink,  tink-a-tink-tink-tink. 

Tink  tink,  tink,  tink, 
Tink,  tink-a-tink-tink-tink. 

The  conductor  graduated  the  tempo  so  as  to  include  the 
rhythmic  beat  of  the  hammer  with  the  other  instruments 
in  his  band.  The  blacksmith  looked,  smiled  and  let  his 
hammer  fall  in  consonance  with  the  beat  of  the  boy's 
hand,  and  for  some  moments  there  was  glorious  harmony 
between  anvil  and  mouth  organ  and  the  band  invisible. 
At  the  store  door  across  the  street  the  band  paused  long 
enough  simply  to  give  and  receive  an  answering  salute 
from  the  storekeeper,  who  smiled  upon  his  boy  as  he 
marched  past.  At  the  crossroads  the  band  paused,  mark- 
ing time.  There  was  evidently  a  momentary  uncertainty 
in  the  leader's  mind  as  to  direction.  The  road  to  the 
right  led  straight,  direct,  but  treeless,  dusty,  uninviting, 
to  the  school.  It  held  no  lure  for  the  leader  and  his 
knightly  following.  Further  on  a  path  led  in  a  curve 
under  shady  trees  and  away  from  the  street.  It  made 
the  way  to  school  longer,  but  the  lure  of  the  curving, 
shady  path  was  irresistible.  Still  stepping  bravely  to  the 
old  abolitionist  hymn,  the  procession  moved  along,  svftmg 
into  the  path  under  the  trees  and  suddenly  came  to  a  halt. 
With  a  magnificent  flourish  the  band  concluded  its  tri- 
umphant hymn  and  with  the  conductor  and  brigadier 


THE  COWARD  15 

the  whole  brigade  stood  rigidly  at  attention.  The  cause 
of  this  sudden  halt  was  to  be  seen  at  the  foot  of  a  maple 
tree  in  the  person  of  a  fat  lump  of  good  natured  boy 
flesh  supine  upon  the  ground. 

''Hello,  Joe;  coming  to  school?" 

"Ugh,"  grunted  Joe,  from  the  repose  of  limitless  calm. 

"Come  on,  then,  quick,  march."  Once  more  the  band 
struck  up  its  hymn. 

"Hoi'  on,  Larry,  it's  plenty  tarn  again,"  said  Joe.  The 
band  came  to  a  stop.  "I  don'  lak  dat  school  me,"  he  con- 
tinued, still  immersed  in  calm. 

Joe's  struggles  with  an  English  education  were  indeed 
tragically  pathetic.  His  attempts  with  aspirates  were  a 
cqntinual  humiliation  to  himself  and  a  joy  to  the  whole 
school.  No  wonder  he  "no  lak  dat  school."  Besides, 
Joe  was  a  creature  of  the  open  fields.  His  French  Ca- 
nadian father,  Joe  Gagneau,  "Ol'  Joe,"  was  a  survival  of 
a  bygone  age,  the  glorious  golden  age  of  the  river  and  the 
bush,  of  the  shanty  and  the  raft,  of  the  axe  and  the  gun, 
the  age  of  Canadian  romance,  of  daring  deed,  of  wild 
adventure. 

"An'  it  ees  half-hour  too  queek,"  persisted  Joe.  "Come 
on  hup  to  de  dam."  A  little  worn  path  invited  their 
feet  from  the  curving  road,  and  following  their  feet, 
they  found  themselves  upon  a  steep  embankment  which 
dammed  the  waters  into  a  pond  that  formed  the  driv- 
ing power  for  the  grist  mill  standing  near.  At  the 
farther  end  of  the  pond  a  cedar  bush  interposed  a  barrier 
to  the  sight  and  suggested  mysterious  things  beyond. 
Back  of  the  cedar  barrier  a  woods  of  great  trees,  spruce, 
balsam,  with  tall  elms  and  maples  on  the  higher  ground 
beyond,  offered  deeper  mysteries  and  delights  unutter- 
able. They  knew  well  the  cedar  swamp  and  the  woods 
beyond.  Partridges  drummed  there,  rabbits  darted  along 
their  beaten  runways,  and  Joe  had  seen  a  woodcock,  that 
shyest  of  all  shy  birds,  disappear  in  glancing,  shadowy 
flight,  a  ghostly,  silent  denizen  of  the  ghostly,  silent 
spaces  of  the  forest.  Even  as  they  gazed  upon  that  in- 


16  THE  MAJOR 

viting  line  of  woods,  the  boys  could  see  and  hear  the 
bluejays  flash  in  swift  flight  from  tree  to  tree  and  scream 
their  joy  of  rage  and  love.  From  the  farther  side  of  the 
pond  two  boys  put  out  in  a  flat-bottomed  boat. 

"There's  big  Ben  and  Mop,"  cried  Larry  eagerly. 
"Hello,  Ben,"  he  called  across  the  pond.  "Coin*  to 
school?" 

"Yap,"  cried  Mop,  so  denominated  from  the  quantity 
and  cut  of  the  hair  that  crowned  his  head.  Ben  was  at 
the  oars  which  creaked  and  thumped  between  the  pins, 
but  were  steadily  driving  the  snub-nosed  craft  on  its  toil- 
some way  past  the  boys. 

"Hello,  Ben,"  cried  Larry.     "Take  us  in  too." 

"All  right,"  said  Ben,  heading  the  boat  for  the  bank. 

"Let  me  take  an  oar,  Ben,"  said  Larry,  whose  experi- 
ence upon  the  world  of  waters  was  not  any  too  wide. 

"Here,  where  you  goin',"  cried  Mop,  as  the  boat  slowly 
but  surely  pointed  toward  the  cedars.  "You  stop  pulling, 
Ben.  Now,  Larry,  pull  around  again.  There  now,  she's 
right.  Pull,  Ben."  But  Ben  sat  rigid  with  his  eyes  in- 
tent upon  the  cedars. 

"What's  the  matter,  Ben?"  said  Larry.  Still  Ben  sat 
with  fixed  gaze. 

"By  gum,  he's  in,  boys,"  said  Ben  in  a  low  voice.  "I 
thought  he  had  his  nest  in  one  of  them  stubs." 

"What  is  it — in  what  stub?"  inquired  Larry,  his  voice 
shrill  with  excitement. 

"That  big  middle  stub,  there,"  said  Ben.  "It's  a  wood- 
pecker. Say,  let's  pull  down  and  see  it."  Under  Mop's 
direction  the  old  scow  gradually  made  its  way  toward  the 
big  stub. 

They  explored  the  stub,  finding  in  it  a  hole  and  in  the 
hole  a  nest,  the  mother  and  father  woodpeckers  mean- 
while flying  in  wild  agitation  from  stub  to  stub  and  pro- 
testing with  shrill  cries  against  the  intruders.  Then  they 
each  must  climb  up  and  feel  the  eggs  lying  soft  and  snug 
in  their  comfy  cavity.  After  that  they  all  must  discuss 
the  probable  time  of  hatching,  the  likelihood  of  there  oe- 


THE  COWARD  17 

ing  other  nests  in  other  stubs  which  they  proceeded  to 
visit.  So  the  eager  moments  gaily  passed  into  minutes 
all  unheeded,  till  inevitable  recollection  dragged  them 
back  from  the  world  of  adventure  and  romance  to  that 
of  stern  duty  and  dull  toil. 

''Say,  boys,  we'll  be  late,"  cried  Larry,  in  sudden  panic, 
seizing  his  oar.  "Come  on,  Ben,  let's  go." 

"I  guess  it's  pretty  late  now,"  replied  Ben,  slowly  tak- 
ing up  his  car. 

"Dat  bell,  I  hear  him  long  tarn,"  said  Joe  placidly. 

"Oh,  Joe !"  cried  Larry  in  distress.  "Why  didn't  you 
tell  us?" 

Joe  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  was  his  own  master 
and  superbly  indifferent  to  the  flight  of  time.  With  him 
attendance  at  school  was  a  thing  of  more  or  less  inciden- 
tal obligation. 

"We'll  catch  it  all  right,"  said  Mop  with  dark  fore- 
boding. "He  was  awful  mad  last  time  and  said  he'd 
lick  any  one  who  came  late  again  and  keep  him  in  for 
noon  too." 

The  prospect  was  sufficiently  gloomy. 

"Aw,  let's  hurry  up  anyway,"  cried  Larry,  who  during 
his  school  career  had  achieved  a  perfect  record  for  prompt 
and  punctual  attendance. 

In  ever  deepening  dejection  the  discussion  proceeded 
until  at  length  Mop  came  forward  with  a  daring  sugges- 
tion. 

"Say,  boys,  let's  wait  until  noon.  He  won't  notice 
anything.  We  can  easily  fool  him." 

This  brought  no  comfort  to  Larry,  however,  whose 
previous  virtues  would  only  render  this  lapse  the  more 
conspicuous.  A  suggestion  of  Joe's  turned  the  scale. 

"Dat  woodchuck,"  he  said,  "he's  got  one  hole  on  de 
hill  by  dere.  He's  big  feller.  We  dron  heem  out." 

"Come  on,  let's,"  cried  Mop.  "It  will  be  awful  fun 
to  drown  the  beggar  out." 

"Guess  we  can't  do  much  this  morning,  anyway,"  said 
Ben,  philosophically  making  the  best  of  a  bad  job.  "Let's 


18  THE  MAJOR 

go,  Larry."    And  much  against  his  will,  but  seeing 
way  out  of  the  dilemma,  Larry  agreed. 

They  explored  the  woodchuck  hole,  failing  to  drcn 
out  that  cunning  subterranean  architect  who  apparen 
had  provided  lines  of  retreat  for  just  such  emergenc 
as  confronted  him  now.  Wearied  of  the  woodchui 
they  ranged  the  bush  seeking  and  finding  the  nests  of  bh 
jays  and  of  woodpeckers,  and  in  a  gravel  pit  those  of  t 
sand  martens.  Joe  led  them  to  the  haunts  of  the  woe 
cock,  but  that  shy  bird  they  failed  to  glimpse.  Long  1 
fore  the  noon  hour  they  felt  the  need  of  sustenance  a 
found  that  Larry's  lunch  divided  among  the  four  we 
but  a  small  way  in  satisfying  their  pangs  of  hunger.  T 
other  three,  carefree  and  unca/icerned  for  what  the  \ 
ture  might  hold,  roamed  the  woods  during  the  afternoc 
but  to  Larry  what  in  other  circumstances  would  ha 
been  a  day  of  unalloyed  joy,  brought  him  only  a  pres* 
misery  and  a  dread  for  the  future.  The  question 
school  for  the  afternoon  was  only  mentioned  to  be  d 
missed.  They  were  too  dirty  and  muddy  to  venture  ir 
the  presence  of  the  master.  Consequently  the  obvic 
course  was  to  wait  until  four  o'clock  when  joining  1 
other  children  they  might  slip  home  unnoticed. 

The  afternoon  soon  began  to  lag.  The  woods  had  1< 
their  first  glamour.  Their  games  grew  to  be  burdenson 
They  were  weary  and  hungry,  and  becoming  correspor 
ingly  brittle  in  temper.  Already  Nemesis  was  on  th 
trail.  Sick  at  heart  and  weighted  with  forebodin; 
Larry  listened  to  the  plans  of  the  other  boys  by  whi 
they  expected  to  elude  the  consequences  of  their  truant 
In  the  discussion  of  their  plans  Larry  took  no  part.  Th 
offered  him  no  hope.  He  knew  that  if  he  were  p 
pared  to  lie,  as  they  had  cheerfully  decided,  his  si 
pie  word  would  carry  him  through  at  home.  But  th( 
the  difficulty  arose.  Was  he  willing  to  lie?  He  h 
never  lied  to  his  mother  in  all  his  life.  He  visualis 
her  face  as  she  listened  to  him  recounting  his  falsified  t; 
of  the  day's  doings  and  unconsciously  he  groaned  aloi 


THE  COWARD  19 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Larry  ?"  inquired  Mop, 
noticing  his  pale  face. 

"Oh,  nothing;  it's  getting  a  little  cold,  I  guess." 

"Cold!"  laughed  Mop.  "I  guess  you're  getting  scared 
all  right." 

To  this  Larry  made  no  reply.  He  was  too  miserable, 
too  tired  to  explain  his  state  of  mind.  He  was  doubtful 
whether  he  could  explain  to  Mop  or  to  Joe  his  unwilling- 
ness to  lie  to  his  mother. 

"It  don't  take  much  to  scare  you  anyway,"  said  Mop 
with  an  ugly  grin. 

The  situation  was  not  without  its  anxieties  to  Mop,  for 
while  he  felt  fairly  confident  as  to  his  ability  to  meet 
successfully  his  mother's  cross  examination,  there  was 
always  a  possibility  of  his  father's  taking  a  hand,  and 
that  filled  him  with  a  real  dismay.  For  Mr.  Sam  Cheat- 
ley,  the  village  butcher,  was  a  man  of  violent  temper, 
hasty  in  his  judgments  and  merciless  in  his  punishment. 
There  was  a  possibility  of  unhappy  consequences  for  Mop 
in  spite  of  his  practiced  ability  in  deception.  Hence  his 
nerves  were  set  a-jangling,  and  his  temper,  never  very 
certain,  was  rather  on  edge.  The  pale  face  of  the  little 
boy  annoyed  him,  and  the  little  whimsical  smile  which 
never  quite  left  his  face  confronted  him  like  an  in- 
sult. 

"You're  scared,"  reiterated  Mop  with  increasing  con- 
tempt, "and  you  know  you're  scared.  You  ain't  got  any 
spunk  anyway.  You  ain't  got  the  spunk  of  a  louse." 
With  a  quick  grip  he  caught  the  boy  by  the  collar  (he 
was  almost  twice  Larry's  size),  and  with  a  jerk  landed 
him  on  his  back  in  a  brush  heap.  The  fall  brought  Larry 
no  physical  hurt,  but  the  laughter  of  Joe  and  especially 
of  big  Ben,  who  in  his  eyes  was  something  of  a  hero, 
wounded  and  humiliated  him.  The  little  smile,  however, 
did  not  leave  his  face  and  he  picked  himself  up  and  set- 
tled his  coat  about  his  collar. 

"You  ain't  no  good  anyway,"  continued  Mop,  with  the 
native  instinct  of  the  bully  to  worry  his  victim.  "You 


20  THE  MAJOR 

can't  play  nothin'  and  you  can't  lick  nobody  in  the  whole 
school." 

Both  of  these  charges  Larry  felt  were  true.  He  was 
not  fond  of  games  and  never  had  he  experienced  a  desire 
to  win  fame  as  a  fighter. 

"Aw,  let  him  alone,  can't  you,  Mop?"  said  big  Ben. 
"He  ain't  hurtin'  you  none." 

"Hurtin'  me,"  cried  Mop,  who  for  some  unaccountable 
reason  had  worked  himself  into  a  rage.  "He  couldn't 
hurt  me  if  he  tried.  I  could  lick  him  on  my  knees  with 
one  hand  behind  my  back.  I  believe  Joe  there  could  lick 
him  with  one  hand  tied  behind  his  back." 

"I  bet  he  can't,"  said  Ben,  measuring  Larry  with  his 
eye  and  desiring  to  defend  him  from  this  degrading  ac- 
cusation. "I  bet  he'd  put  up  a  pretty  fine  scrap,"  con- 
tinued Ben,  "if  he  had  to."  Larry's  heart  warmed  to 
his  champion. 

"\es,  if  he  had  to,"  replied  Mop  with  a  sneer.  "But 
he  would  never  have  to.  He  wouldn't  fight  a  flea.  Joe 
can  lick  him  with  one  hand,  can't  you,  Joe?" 

"I  domio.     I  don'  want  fight  me,"  said  Joe. 

"No,  I  know  you  don't  want  to,  but  you  could, 
couldn't  you?"  persisted  Mop.  Joe  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders. "Ha,  I  told  you  so.  Hurrah  for  my  man,"  cried 
Mop,  clapping  Joe  on  the  back  and  pushing  him  toward 
Larry. 

Ben  began  to  scent  sport.  He  was  also  conscious  of  a 
rising  resentment  against  Mop's  exultant  tone  and  man- 
ner. 

"I  bet  you,"  he  said,  "if  Larry  wanted  to,  he  could 
lick  Joe  even  if  he  had  both  hands,  but  if  Joe's  one  hand 
is  tied  behind  his  back,  why  Larry  would  just  whale  the 
tar  out  of  him.  But  Larry  does  not  want  to  fight." 

"No,"  jeered  Mop,  "you  bet  he  don't,  he  ain't  got  it  in 
him.  I  bet  you  he  daren't  knock  a  chip  off  Joe's  shoulder, 
and  I  will  tie  Joe's  hand  behind  his  back  with  his  belt. 
Now  there  he  is,  bring  your  man  on.  There's  a  chip  on 
his  shoulder*  too." 


THE  COWARD  21 

Larry  looked  at  Joe,  the  little  smile  still  on  his  face. 
"I  don't  want  to  fight  Joe.  What  would  I  fight  Joe  for?" 
he  said. 

"I  told  you  so,"  cried  Mop,  dancing  about.  "He  ain't 
got  no  fight  in  him. 

Take  a  dare, 
Take  a  dare, 
Chase  a  cat, 
And  hunt  a  hare." 

Ben  looked  critically  at  Larry  as  if  appraising  the  qual- 
ity of  his  soul.  "Joe  can't  lick  you  with  one  hand  tied 
behind  his  back,  can  he,  Larry?" 

*'I  don't  want  to  fight  Joe,"  persisted  Larry  still  smil- 
ing. 

"Ya,  ya,"  persisted  Mop.  "Here,  Joe,  you  knock  this 
chip  off  Larry's  shoulder."  Mop  placed  the  gauge  of 
battle  on  Larry's  shoulder.  "Go  ahead,  Joe." 

To  Joe  a  fight  with  a  friend  or  a  foe  was  an  event  of 
common  occurrence.  With  even  a  more  dangerous  op- 
ponent than  Larry  he  would  not  have  hesitated.  For  to 
decline  a  fight  was  with  Joe  utterly  despicable.  So  plac- 
ing himself  in  readiness  for  the  blow  that  should  have 
been  the  inevitable  consequence,  he  knocked  the  chip  off 
Larry's  shoulder.  Still  Larry  smiled  at  him. 

"Aw,  your  man's  no  good.  He  won't  fight,"  cried 
Mop  with  unspeakable  disgust.  "I  told  you  he  wouldn't 
fight.  Do  you  know  why  he  won't  fight?  His  mother 
belongs  to  that  people,  them  Quakers,  that  won't  fight  for 
anything.  He's  a  coward  an'  his  mother's  a  coward  be- 
fore him." 

The  smile  faded  from  Larry's  lips.  His  face  which 
had  been  pale  flamed  a  quick  red,  then  as  quickly  be- 
came dead  white.  He  turned  from  Joe  and  looked  at  the 
boy  who  was  tormenting  him.  Mop  was  at  least  four 
years  older,  strongly  and  heavily  built.  For  a  moment 
Larry  stood  as  though  estimating  Mop's  fighting  quali- 
ties. Then  apparently  making  up  his  mind  that  on  ordi- 


22  THE  MAJOR 

nary  terms,  owing  to  his  lack  in  size  and  in  strength,  he 
was  quite  unequal  to  his  foe,  he  looked  quickly  about  him 
and  his  eye  fell  upon  a  stout  and  serviceable  beechwood 
stake.  With  quiet  deliberation  he  seized  the  club  and  be- 
gan walking  slowly  toward  Mop,  his  eyes  glittering  as 
if  with  madness,  his  face  white  as  that  of  the  dead.  So 
terrifying  was  his  appearance  that  Mop  began  to  back 
away.  "Here  you,  look  out,"  he  cried,  "I  will  smash 
you."  But  Larry  still  moved  steadily  upon  him.  His 
white  face,  his  burning  eyes,  his  steady  advance  was 
more  than  Mop  could  endure.  His  courage  broke.  He 
turned  and  incontinently  fled.  Whirling  the  stick  over 
his  head,  Larry  flung  the  club  with  all  his  might  after 
him.  The  club  caught  the  fleeing  Mop  fairly  between 
the  shoulders.  At  the  same  time  his  foot  caught  a  root. 
Down  he  went  upon  his  face,  uttering  cries  of  deadly 
terror. 

"Keep  him  off,  keep  him  off.  He  will  kill  me,  he  will 
kill  me." 

But  Larry  having  shot  his  bolt  ignored  his  fallen  en- 
emy, and  without  a  glance  at  him,  or  at  either  of  the 
other  boys,  or  without  a  word  to  any  of  them,  he  walked 
away  through  the  wood,  and  deaf  to  their  calling  dis- 
appeared through  the  cedar  swamp  and  made  straight 
for  home  and  to  his  mother.  With  even,  passionless 
voice,  with  almost  no  sign  of  penitence,  he  told  her  the 
story  of  the  day's  truancy. 

As  her  discriminating  eye  was  quick  in  discerning  his 
penitence,  so  her  forgiveness  was  quick  in  meeting  his 
sin.  But  though  her  forgiveness  brought  the  boy  a  cer- 
tain measure  of  relief  he  seemed  almost  to  take  it  for 
granted,  and  there  still  remained  on  his  face  a  look  of 
pain  and  of  more  than  pain  that  puzzled  his  mother. 
He  seemed  to  be  in  a  maze  of  uncertainty  and  doubt  and 
fear.  His  mother  could  not  understand  his  distress,  for 
Larry  had  told  her  nothing  of  his  encounter  with  Mop. 
Throughout  the  evening  there  pounded  through  the  boy's 
memory  the  terrible  words,  "He  is  a  coward  and  his 


THE  COWARD  23 

mother  is  a  coward  before  him."  Through  his  father's 
prayer  at  evening  worship  those  words  continued  to  beat 
upon  his  brain.  He  tried  to  prepare  his  school  lessons 
for  the  day  following,  but  upon  the  page  before  his  eyes 
the  same  words  took  shape.  He  could  not  analyse  his 
unutterable  sense  of  shame.  He  had  been  afraid  to  fight. 
He  knew  he  was  a  coward,  but  there  was  a  deeper  shame 
in  which  his  mother  was  involved.  She  was  a  Quaker, 
he  knew,  and  he  had  a  more  or  less  vague  idea  that 
Quakers  would  not  fight.  Was  she  then  a  coward  ?  That 
any  reflection  should  be  made  upon  his  mother  stabbed 
him  to  the  heart.  Again  and  again  Mop's  sneering,  grin- 
ning face  appeared  before  his  eyes.  He  felt  that  he 
could  have  gladly  killed  him  in  the  woods,  but  after  all, 
the  paralysing  thought  ever  recurred  that  what  Mop 
said  was  true.  His  mother  was  a  coward !  He  put  his 
head  down  upon  his  books  and  groaned  aloud. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  inquired  his  mother. 

"I  am  going  to  bed,  mother,"  he  said. 

"Is  your  head  bad?"  she  asked. 

"No,  no,  mother.  It  is  nothing.  I  am  tired,"  he  said, 
and  went  upstairs. 

Before  she  went  to  sleep  the  mother,  as  was  her  cus- 
tom, looked  in  upon  him.  The  boy  was  lying  upon  his 
face  with  his  arms  flung  over  his  head,  and  when  she 
turned  him  over  to  an  easier  position,  on  the  pillow  and 
on  his  cheeks  were  the  marks  of  tears.  Gently  she 
pushed  back  the  thick,  black,  wavy  locks  from  his  fore- 
head, and  kissed  him  once  and  again.  The  boy  turned 
his  face  toward  her.  A  long  sobbing  sigh  came  from  his 
parted  lips.  He  opened  his  eyes. 

"That  you,  mother  ?"  he  asked,  the  old  whimsical  smile 
at  his  lips.  "Good-night." 

He  settled  down  into  the  clothes  and  in  a  moment  was 
fast  asleep.  The  mother  stood  looking  down  upon  her 
boy.  He  had  not  told  her  his  trouble,  but  her  touch  had 
brought  him  comfort,  and  for  the  rest  she  was  content 
to  wait. 


CHAPTER  H 


A   FIGHT  PMt  Fl 


[E  Tillage  schoolhouse  was  packed  to  the  do 
Over  the  crowded  forms  there  f efl  a  murk*  Hf 
kr  swinging  lamp  that  left  dark 


in  the  comers  of  die  room.     On  the  walk  ha 

dated  maps  at  asijics  soEcesoop  toe  Bttcnor  ot 
riiriB  daring  a  storm,  or  a  party  of  revellers, 
Mid,  after  the  night  before,  grarerj  ~ 


Behind  the  platform  a  blackboard,  cracked 


daring  tbeir  working  boors,  and  in  sharp 
setfce  terribly  deprega^  yerltg&m  of  die 

BB9P  IB  flCBDI3DSDH)L  VrtOCXM   (V^BHBu 

.  -  —  .  •-  ••  m^m 

EC   ^1-^f  %*^y  Ul^t       Hyyyul    %  HUlBDCC   IS   tQC    DC  ICC 


Beares  of  a  hymn  book.    His 


A  FIGHT  FOR  FREEDOM         21 

n,  and  in  the  dark  corners  subdued  laughter — while  01 
front  benches  the  animated  and  giggling  whispering 
three  little  girls  tended  to  relieve  the  hour  from  an  al 
>st  superhuman  gravity. 

\t  length  with  a  sudden  acquisition  of  resolution  th< 
ingelist  glanced  at  his  watch,  rose,  and  catching  uj 
»undle  of  hymn  books  from  the  table  thrust  them  \vitl 
necessary  energy  into  the  hands  of  a  boy  who  sat  01 
side  bench  beside  his  mother.  The  boy  was  Law 
ice  Gwynne. 

'Take  these,"  said   the  man,   "and  distribute  them 
ase." 

Lawrence  taken  thus  by  surprise  paled,  then  flushed  ; 
ick  red.  He  glanced  up  at  his  mother  and  at  her  sligh 
i  took  the  books  and  distributed  them  among  th< 
dience  on  one  side  of  the  room  while  the  evangelis 
>k  the  other.  As  the  lad  passed  from  bench  t~  bend 
th  his  books  he  was  greeted  with  jocular  and  slightb 
ring  remarks  in  undertone  by  the  younger  members  o 
company,  which  had  the  effect  of  obviously  increasing 
••  ineptitude  of  his  thin  nervous  fingers,  but  could  no 
lite  dispel  the  whimsical  smile  that  lingered  about  th< 
Irners  of  his  mouth  and  glanced  from  the  corners  o 
I  grey-blue  eyes. 

•The  meeting  opened  with  the  singing  of  a  popula: 
§mn  which  carried  a  refrain  catchy  enough  but  run 
tig  to  doggerel.     Another  hymn  followed  and  another 
wen  abruptly  the  evangelist  announced, 
•"Now  we  shall  have  a  truly  great  hymn,  a  hymn  yoi 
last  sing  in  a  truly  great  way,  in  what  we  call  the  grant 
I'le,  number  three  hundred  and  sixty-seven." 
Then  in  a  voice,  deep,  thrilling,  vibrant  with  a  nobl< 
lotion,  he  read  the  words : 

"When  I  survey  the  wondrous  cross 

On  which  the  Prince  of  Glory  died, 
My  richest  gain  I  count  but  loss, 

And  pour  contempt  on  all  my  pride." 


26  THE  MAJOR 

They  sang  the  verse,  and  when  they  had  finished  he 
stood  looking  at  them  in  silence  for  a  moment  or  two, 
then  announced  solemnly: 

"Friends,  that  will  not  do  for  this  hymn.  Sing  it  with 
your  hearts.  Listen  to  me." 

Then  he  sang  a  verse  in  a  deep,  strong  baritone. 

"Now  try." 

Timidly  they  obeyed  him. 

"No,  no,  not  at  all,"  he  shouted  at  them.     "Listen." 

Again  with  exquisitely  distinct  articulation  and  in  a 
tone  rich  in  emotion  and  carrying  in  it  the  noble,  pene- 
trating pathos  of  the  great  words  in  which  is  embodied 
the  passion  of  that  heart  subduing  world  tragedy.  He 
would  not  let  them  try  it  again,  but  alone  sang  the  hymn 
to  the  end.  By  the  spell  of  his  voice  he  had  gripped  them 
by  the  heart.  The  giggling  girls  in  the  front  seat  sat 
gazing  at  him  with  open  mouths  and  lifted  eyes.  From 
every  corner  of  the  room  faces  once  dull  were  filled  with 
a  great  expectant  look. 

"You  will  never  sing  those  words  as  you  should,"  he 
cried,  "until  you  know  and  feel  the  glory  of  that  won- 
drous cross.  Never,  never,  never."  His  voice  rose  in 
a  passionate  crescendo. 

After  he  had  finished  singing  the  last  great  verse,  he 
let  his  eyes  wander  over  the  benches  until  they  rested 
upon  the  face  of  the  lad  on  the  side  bench  near 
him. 

"Aha,  boy,"  he  cried.  "You  can  sing  those  words. 
Try  that  last  verse." 

The  boy  stared,  fascinated,  at  him. 

"Sing  the  last  verse,  boy,"  commanded  the  evangelist, 
"sing." 

As  if  impelled  by  another  will  than  his  own,  the  boy 
slowly,  with  his  eyes  still  fastened  on  the  man's  face, 
threw  back  his  head  and  began  to  sing.  His  voice  rose, 
full,  strong,  in  a  quaint  imitation  in  method  of  articula- 
tion and  in  voice  production  of  the  evangelist  himself. 
At  the  third  line  of  the  verse  the  evangelist  joined  in 


A  FIGHT  FOR  FREEDOM         27 

great  massive  tones,  beating  time  vigorously  in  a  rallen- 

tando. 

"Love  so  amazing,  so  divine, 
Demands  my  soul,  my  life,  my  all." 

The  effect  was  a  great  emotional  climax,  the  spiritual 
atmosphere  was  charged  with  fervour.  The  people  sat 
rigid,  fixed  in  their  places,  incapable  of  motion,  until 
released  by  the  invitation  of  the  leader,  "Let  us  pray." 
The  boy  seemed  to  wake  as  from  a  sleep,  glanced  at  his 
mother,  then  at  the  faces  of  the  people  in  the  room,  sat 
down,  and  quickly  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  so 
remained  during  the  prayer. 

The  dramatic  effect  of  the  singing  was  gradually  dis- 
pelled in  the  prayer  and  in  a  Scripture  reading  which  fol- 
lowed, By  the  time  the  leader  was  about  to  begin  his 
address,  the  people  had  almost  relapsed  into  their  normal 
mental  and  spiritual  condition  of  benevolent  neutrality. 
A  second  time  a  text  was  announced,  when  abruptly  the 
door  opened  and  up  the  aisle,  with  portentous  impressive- 
ness  as  of  a  stately  ocean  liner  coming  to  berth,  a  man 
advanced  whose  presence  seemed  to  fill  the  room  and 
give  it  the  feeling  of  being  unpleasantly  crowded.  A 
buzz  went  through  the  seats.  "The  Rector!  The  Rec- 
tor!" The  evangelist  gazed  upon  the  approaching  form 
and  stood  as  if  incapable  of  proceeding  until  this  impres- 
sive personage  should  come  to  rest.  Deliberately  the 
Rector  advanced  to  the  side  bench  upon  which  Larry  and 
his  mother  were  seated,  and  slowly  swinging  into  posi- 
tion calmly  viewed  the  man  upon  the  platform,  the  wo- 
man at  the  organ,  the  audience  filling  the  room  and  then 
definitely  came  to  anchor  upon  the  bench. 

The  preacher  waited  until  this  manoeuvre  had  been 
successfully  accomplished,  coughed  nervously,  made  as  if 
to  move  in  the  direction  of  the  important  personage  on 
the  side  bench,  hesitated,  and  finally  with  an  air  of  em- 
barrassment once  more  announced  his  text.  At  once  the 
Rector  was  upon  his  feet. 


28  THE  MAJOR 

"Will  you  pardon  me,  sir,"  he  began  with  elaborate 
politeness.  "Do  I  understand  you're  a  clergyman  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  sir,"  replied  the  evangelist,  "just  a  plain 
preacher." 

"You  are  not  in  any  Holy  Orders  then?" 

"Oh,  no,  sir." 

"Are  you  an  ordained  or  accredited  minister  of  any  of 
ihe — ah — dissenting  bodies  ?" 

"Not  exactly,  sir." 

"Then,  sir,"  demanded  the  Rector,  "may  I  ask  by 
what  authority  you  presume  to  exercise  the  functions  of 
the  holy  ministry  and  in  my  parish?" 

"Well — really — sir,  I  do  not  know  why  I " 

"Then,  sir,  let  me  tell  you  this  will  not  be  permitted," 
said  the  Rector  sternly.  "There  are  regularly  ordained 
and  accredited  ministers  of  the  Church  and  of  all  religious 
bodies  represented  in  this  neighbourhood,  and  your  min- 
istrations are  not  required." 

"But  surely,  sir,"  said  the  evangelist  hurriedly  as  if 
anxious  to  get  in  a  word,  "I  may  be  permitted  in  this 
free  country  to  preach  the  Gospel." 

"Sir,  there  are  regularly  ordained  and  approved  min- 
isters of  the  Gospel  who  are  quite  capable  of  performing 
this  duty.  I  won't  have  it,  sir.  I  must  protect  these 
people  from  unlicensed,  unregulated — ah — persons,  of 
whose  character  and  antecedents  we  have  no  knowledge. 
Pray,  sir,"  cried  the  Rector,  taking  a  step  toward  the  man 
on  the  platform,  "whom  do  you  represent?" 

The  evangelist  drew  himself  up  quietly  and  said,  "My 
Lord  and  Master,  sir.  May  I  ask  whom  do  you  repre- 
sent?" 

It  was  a  deadly  thrust.  For  the  first  time  during  the 
encounter  the  Rector  palpably  gave  ground. 

"Eh?  Ah — sir — I — ah — ahem — my  standing  in  this 
community  is  perfectly  assured  as  an  ordained  clergyman 
of  the  Church  of  England  in  Canada.  Have  you  any 
organisation  or  church,  any  organised  Christian  body 
to  which  you  adhere  and  to  which  you  are  responsible?" 


A  FIGHT  FOR  FREEDOM         29 

"Yes." 

"What  is  that  body?" 

"The  Church  of  Christ— the  body  of  believers." 

"Is  that  an  organised  body  with  ordained  ministers 
and  holy  sacraments?" 

"We  do  not  believe  in  a  paid  ministry  with  special 
privileges  and  powers,"  said  the  evangelist.  "We  be- 
lieve that  every  disciple  has  a  right  to  preach  the  glorious 
Gospel." 

"Ah,  then  you  receive  no  support  from  any  source  in 
this  ministry  of  yours?" 

The  evangelist  hesitated.     "I  receive  no  salary,  sir.*' 

"No  support?" 

"I  receive  no  regular  salary,"  reiterated  the  evangelist. 

"Do  not  quibble,  sir,"  said  the  Rector  sternly.  "Do 
you  receive  any  financial  support  from  any  source  what- 
ever in  your  mission  about  the  country  ?" 

"I  receive "  began  the  evangelist. 

*Do  you  or  do  you  not?"  thundered  the  Rector. 

"I  was  about  to  say  that  my  expenses  are  paid  by  my 
society." 

"Thank  you,  no  more  need  be  said.  These  people  can 
judge  for  themselves." 

"I  am  willing  that  they  should  judge,  but  I  remind 
you  that  there  is  another  Judge." 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  Rector  with  portentous  solem- 
nity, "there  is,  before  whom  both  you  and  I  must 
stand." 

"And  now  then,"  said  the  evangelist,  taking  up  the 
Bible,  "we  may  proceed  with  our  meeting." 

"No,  sir,"  replied  the  Rector,  stepping  upon  the  plat- 
form. "I  will  not  permit  it." 

"You  have  no  right  to " 

"I  have  every  right  to  protect  this  community  from 
heretical  and  disingenuous,  not  to  say  dishonest,  persons.'1 

"You  call  me  dishonest?" 

"I  said  disingenuous." 

The  evangelist  turned  toward  the  audience.     *'I  pro- 


30  THE  MAJOR 

test  against  this  intrusion  upon  this  meeting.  I  appeal 
to  the  audience  far  British  fair  play." 

Murmurs  were  heard  from  the  audience  and  subdued 
signs  of  approval.  The  Rector  glanced  upon  the  people. 

"Fair  play,"  he  cried,  "you  will  get  as  will  any  man 
who  appears  properly  accredited  and  properly  qualified 
to  proclaim  the  Gospel,  but  in  the  name  of  this  Christian 
community,  I  will  prevent  the  exploitation  of  an  unwary 
and  trusting  people." 

"Liberty  of  speech !"  called  a  voice  from  a  dark  corner. 

"Liberty  of  speech,"  roared  the  Rector.  "Who  of 
you  wants  liberty  of  speech?  Let  him  stand  forth." 

There  followed  a  strained  and  breathless  silence.  The 
champion  of  free  speech  retreated  behind  his  discretion. 

"Ah,  I  thought  so,"  said  the  Rector  in  grim  contempt. 

But  even  as  he  spoke  a  quiet  voice  invaded  the  tense 
silence  like  a  bell  in  a  quiet  night.  It  was  Mrs.  Gwynne, 
her  slight  girlish  figure  standing  quietly  erect,  her  face 
glowing  as  with  an  inner  light,  her  eyes  resting  in  calm 
fearlessness  upon  the  Rector's  heated  countenance. 

"Sir,"  she  said,  "my  conscience  will  not  permit  me  to 
sit  in  silence  in  the  presence  of  what  I  feel  to  be  an  in- 
fringement of  the  rights  of  free  people.  I  venture  very 
humbly  to  protest  against  this  injustice,  and  to  say  that 
this  gentleman  has  a  right  to  be  heard." 

An  even  more  intense  silence  fell  upon  the  people. 
The  Rector  stood  speechless,  gazing  upon  the  little  wom- 
an who  had  thus  broken  every  tradition  of  the  com- 
munity in  lifting  her  voice  in  a  public  assembly  and  who 
had  dared  to  challenge  the  authority  of  one  who  for 
nearly  twenty  years  had  been  recognised  as  the  autocrat 
of  the  village  and  of  the  whole  countryside.  But  the 
Rector  was  an  alert  and  gallant  fighter.  He  quickly 
recovered  his  poise. 

"If  Mrs.  Gwynne,  our  good  friend  and  neighbour,  de- 
sires to  address  this  meeting,"  he  said  with  a  courteous 
and  elaborate  bow,  "and  I  am  sure  by  training  and  tradi- 
tion she  is  quite  capable  of  doing  so.  I  am  confident  that 


A  FIGHT  FOR  FREEDOM         31 

all  of  us  will  be  delighted  to  listen  to  her.     But  the  ques- 
tion in  hand  is  not  quite  so  simple  as  she  imagines.     It 

"Liberty  of  speech,'*  said  the  voice  again  from  the 
dark  corner. 

The  Rector  wheeled  fiercely  in  the  direction  from 
which  the  interruption  came. 

"Who  speaks,"  he  cried;  "why  does  he  shrink  into 
the  darkness?  Let  him  come  forth." 

Again  discretion  held  the  interrupter  silent. 

"As  for  you — you,  sir,"  continued  the  Rector,  turning 
upon  the  evangelist,  "if  you  desire " 

But  at  this  point  there  was  a  sudden  commotion  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  room.  A  quaint  dwarfish  figure, 
crippled  but  full  of  vigour,  stumped  up  to  the  platform. 

"My  son,"  he  said,  grandly  waving  the  Rector  to  one 
side,  "allow  me,  my  son.  You  have  done  well.  Now  I 
shall  deal  with  this  gentleman." 

The  owner  of  the  misshapen  body  had  a  noble  head, 
a  face  marked  with  intellectual  quality,  but  the  glitter  in 
the  large  blue  eye  told  the  same  tale  of  mental  anarchy. 
Startled  and  astonished,  the  evangelist  backed  away  from 
the  extraordinary  creature  that  continued  to  advance 
upon  him. 

"Sir,"  cried  the  dwarf,  "by  what  right  do  you  pro- 
claim the  divine  message  to  your  f  ellowmen  ?  Have  you 
known  the  cross,  have  you  felt  the  piercing  crown,  do  you 
bear  upon  your  body  the  mark  of  the  spear?"  At  this 
with  a  swift  upward  hitch  of  his  shirt  the  dwarf  exposed 
his  bare  side.  The  evangelist  continued  to  back  away 
from  his  new  assailant,  who  continued  vigorously  to  fol- 
low him  up.  The  youngsters  in  the  crowd  broke  into 
laughter.  The  scene  passed  swiftly  from  tragedy  to 
farce.  At  this  point  the  Rector  interposed. 

"Come,  come,  John,"  he  said,  laying  a  firm,  but  gen- 
tle, hand  upon  the  dwarf's  shoulder.  "That  will  do  now. 
He  is  perfectly  harmless,  sir,"  he  said,  addressing  the 
evangelist.  Then  turning  to  the  audience,  "1  think  we> 


32  THE  MAJOR 

may  dismiss  this  meeting,"  and,  raising  his  hands,  he 
pronounced  the  benediction,  and  the  people  dispersed  in 
disorder. 

With  a  strained  "Good-night,  sir,"  to  the  evangelist 
and  a  courteous  bow  to  Mrs.  Gwynne,  the  Rector  fol- 
lowed the  people,  leaving  the  evangelist  and  his  wife 
behind  packing  up  their  hymn  books  and  organ,  their 
faces  only  too  clearly  showing  the  distress  which  they 
felt.  Mrs.  Gwynne  moved  toward  them. 

"I  am  truly  grieved,"  she  said,  addressing  the  evan- 
gelist, "that  you  were  not  given  an  opportunity  to  deliver 
your  message." 

"What  a  terrible  creature  that  is,"  he  exclaimed  in  a 
tone  indicating  nervous  anxiety. 

"Oh,  you  mean  poor  John?"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne.  "The 
poor  man  is  quite  harmless.  He  became  excited  with  the 
unusual  character  of  the  meeting.  He  will  disturb  you 
no  more." 

"I  fear  it  is  useless,"  said  the  evangelist.  "I  cannot 
continue  in  the  face  of  this  opposition." 

"It  may  be  difficult,  but  not  useless,"  replied  Mrs. 
Gwynne,  the  light  of  battle  glowing  in  her  grey  eyes. 

"Ah,  I  do  not  know.  It  may  not  be  wise  to  stir  up  bad 
feeling  in  a  community,  to  bring  the  name  of  religion 
into  disrepute  by  strife.  But,"  he  continued,  offering 
his  hand,  "let  me  thank  you  warmly  for  your  sympathy. 
It  was  splendidly  courageous  of  you.  Do  you — do  you 
attend  his  church?" 

"Yes,  we  worship  with  the  Episcopal  Church.  I  am 
a  Friend  myself." 

"Ah,  then  it  was  a  splendidly  courageous  act.  I  hon- 
our you  for  it." 

"But  you  will  continue  your  mission?"  she  replied 
earnestly. 

"Alas,  I  can  hardly  see  how  the  mission  can  be  con- 
tinued. There  seems  to  be  no  opening." 

Mrs.  Gwynne  apparently  lost  interest.  "Good-bye," 
she  said  simply,  shaking  hands  with  them  both,  and  with- 


A  FIGHT  FOR  FREEDOM         33 

out  further  words  left  the  room  with  her  boy.  For 
some  distance  they  walked  together  along  the  dark  road 
in  silence.  Then  in  an  awed  voice  the  boy  sad : 

"How  could  you  do  it,  mother?  You  were  not  a  bit 
afraid." 

"Afraid  of  what,  the  Rector?" 

"No,  not  the  Rector — but  to  speak  up  that  way  before 
all  the  people." 

"It  was  hard  to  speak,"  said  his  mother,  "very  hard, 
but  it  was  harder  to  keep  silent.  It  did  not  seem  right." 

The  boy's  heart  swelled  with  a  new  pride  in  his 
mother.  "Oh,  mother,"  he  said,  "you  were  splendid. 
You  were  like  a  soldier  standing  there.  You  were  like 
the  martyrs  in  my  book." 

"Oh,  no,  no,  my  boy." 

"I  tell  you  yes,  mother,  I  was  proud  of  you.5' 

The  thrilling  passion  in  the  little  boy's  voice  went  to 
his  mother's  heart.  "Were  you,  my  boy?"  she  said,  her 
voice  faltering.  "I  am  glad  you  were." 

Hand  in  hand  they  walked  along,  the  boy  exulting  in 
his  restored  pride  in  his  mother  and  in  her  courage.  But 
a  new  feeling  soon  stirred  within  him.  He  remembered 
with  a  pain  intolerable  that  he  had  allowed  the  word  of 
so  despicable  a  creature  as  Mop  Cheatley  to  shake  his 
faith  in  his  mother's  courage.  Indignation  at  the 
wretched  creature  who  had  maligned  her,  but  chiefly  a 
passionate  self -contempt  that  he  had  allowed  himself  to 
doubt  her,  raged  tumultuously  in  his  heart  and  drove  him 
in  a  silent  fury  through  the  dark  until  they  reached  their 
own  gate.  Then  as  his  mother's  hand  reached  toward 
the  latch,  the  boy  abruptly  caught  her  arm  in  a  fierce 
grip. 

"Mother,"  he  burst  forth  in  a  passionate  declaration 
of  faith,  "you're  not  a  coward." 

"A  coward?"  replied  his  mother,  astonished. 

The  boy's  arms  went  around  her,  his  head  pressed 
into  her  bosom.  In  a  voice  broken  with  passionate  sobs 
he  poured  forth  his  tale  of  shame  and  self -contempt. 


84  THE  MAJOR 

"He  said  you  were  a  Quaker,  that  the  Quakers  were 
cowards,  and  would  never  fight,  and  that  you  were  a 
coward,  and  that  you  would  never,  fight.  But  you  would, 
mother,  wouldn't  you?  And  you're  not  a  real  Quaker, 
are  you,  mother  ?" 

"A  Quaker,"  said  his  mother.  "Yes,  dear,  I  belong  to 
the  Friends,  as  we  call  them." 

"And  they,  won't  they  ever  fight?"  demanded  the  boy 
anxiously. 

"They  do  not  believe  that  fighting  with  fists,  or  sticks, 
or  like  wild  beasts,"  sato  his  mother,  "ever  wins  anything 
worth  while." 

"Never,  mother?"  cried  the  boy,  anxiety  and  fear  in 
his  tones.  "You  would  fight,  you  would  fight  to-night, 
you  would  fight  the  Rector." 

"Yes,  my  boy,"  said  his  mother  quietly,  "that  kind  of 
fighting  we  believe  in.  Our  people  have  never  been 
afraid  to  stand  up  for  the  right,  and  to  suffer  for  it  too. 
Remember  that,  my  boy,"  a  certain  pride  rang  out  in  the 
mother's  voice.  She  continued,  "We  must  never  be 
afraid  to  suffer  for  what  we  believe  to  be  right.  You 
must  never  forget  that  through  all  your  life,  Larry." 
Her  voice  grew  solemn.  "You  must  never,  never  go  back 
from  what  you  know  to  be  right,  even  if  you  have  to 
suffer  for  it." 

"Oh,  mother,"  whispered  the  boy  through  his  sobs,  "I 
wish  I  were  brave  like  you." 

"No,  no,  not  like  me,"  whispered  his  mother,  putting 
her  face  down  to  his.  "You  will  be  much  braver  than 
your  mother,  my  boy,  oh,  very  much  braver  than  your 
mother." 

The  boy  still  clung  to  her  as  if  he  feared  to  let  her  go. 
"Oh,  mother/'  he  whispered,  "do  you  think  I  can  be 
brave?" 

"Yes,  my  boy,"  her  voice  rang  out  again  confident  and 
clear.  "It  always  makes  us  brave  to  know  that  He  bore 
the  cross  for  us  and  died  rather  than  betray  us." 

There  were  no  more  words  between  them,  but  the 


A  FIGHT  FOR  FREEDOM         35 

memory  of  that  night  never  faded  from  the  boy's  mind. 
A  new  standard  of  heroism  was  set  up  within  his  soul 
which  he  might  fail  to  reach  but  which  he  could  never 
lower. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   ESCUTCHEON    CLEARED 

MR.  MICHAEL  GWYNNE,  the  Mapleton  store- 
keeper, was  undoubtedly  the  most  popular  man  not 
in  the  village  only  but  in  the  whole  township.  To  begin 
with  he  was  a  man  of  high  character,  which  was  suffi- 
ciently guaranteed  by  the  fact  that  he  was  chosen  as  Rec- 
tor's Warden  in  All  Saints  Episcopal  Church.  He  was 
moreover  the  Rector's  right-hand  man,  ready  to  back  up 
any  good  cause  with  personal  effort,  with  a  purse  always 
open  but  not  often  full,  and  with  a  tongue  that  was  irre- 
sistible, for  he  had  to  an  extraordinary  degree  the  gift 
of  persuasive  speech.  Therefore,  the  Rector's  first  move 
in  launching  any  new  scheme  was  to  secure  the  approval 
and  co-operation  of  his  Warden. 

By  the  whole  community  too  Mr.  Gwynne  was  recog- 
nised as  a  gentleman,  a  gentleman  not  in  appearance  and 
bearing  only,  a  type  calculated  to  repel  plain  folk,  but  a 
gentleman  in  heart,  with  a  charm  of  manner  which  pro- 
ceeded from  a  real  interest  in  and  consideration  for  the 
welfare  of  others.  This  charm  of  manner  proved  a 
valuable  asset  to  him  in  his  business,  for  behind  his  coun- 
ter Mr.  Gwynne  had  a  rare  gift  of  investing  the  very 
calicoes  and  muslins  which  he  displayed  before  the  daz- 
zled eyes  of  the  ladies  who  came  to  buy  with  a  glamour 
that  never  failed  to  make  them  appear  altogether  desir- 
able; and  even  the  hard-headed  farmers  fell  under  this 
spell  of  his  whether  he  described  to  them  the  superexcel- 
lent  qualities  of  a  newly  patented  cream  separator  or  the 
virtues  of  a  new  patent  medicine  for  ailing  horses  whose 
real  complaint  was  overwork  or  underfeeding.  With 

36 


THE  ESCUTCHEON  CLEARED    37 

all  this,  moreover,  Mr.  Gwynne  was  rigidly  honest.  No 
one  ever  thought  of  disputing  an  account  whether  he 
paid  it  or  not,  and  truth  demands  that  with  Mr.  Gwynne' s 
customers  the  latter  course  was  more  frequently  adopted. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Mr.  Gwynne  failed  of  success 
as  a  business  man.  He  could  buy  with  discrimination,  he 
had  a  rare  gift  of  salesmanship,  but  as  a  collector,  in 
the  words  of  Sam  Cheatley,  the  village  butcher,  himself 
a  conspicuous  star  in  that  department  of  business  activity, 
"He  was  not  worth  a  tinker's  curse."  His  accounts  were 
sent  out  punctually  twice  a  year.  His  wife  saw  to  that 
At  times  of  desperation  when  pressure  from  the  whole- 
sale houses  became  urgent,  special  statements  were  sent 
out  by  Mr.  Gwynne  himself.  But  in  such  cases  the 
apology  -  accompanying  these  statements  was  frequently 
such  as  to  make  immediate  payment  seem  almost  an  in- 
sult. His  customers  held  him  in  high  esteem,  respected 
his  intellectual  ability — for  he  was  a  Trinity  man — were 
fascinated  by  his  charm  of  manner,  loved  him  for  his 
kindly  qualities,  but  would  not  pay  their  bills. 

Many  years  ago,  having  failed  to  work  harmoniously 
with  his  business  partner,  a  shrewd,  hard-headed,  Belfast 
draper — hard-hearted  Mr.  Gwynne  considered  him— Mr. 
Gwynne  had  decided  to  emigrate  to  Canada  with  the 
remnant  of  a  small  fortune  which  was  found  to  be  just 
sufficient  to  purchase  the  Mapleton  general  store,  and 
with  it  a  small  farm  of  fifty  acres  on  the  corner  of  which 
the  store  stood.  It  was  the  farm  that  decided  the  invest- 
ment ;  for  Mr.  Gwynne  was  possessed  of  the  town  man's 
infatuation  for  farm  life  and  of  the  optimistic  conviction 
that  on  the  farm  a  living  at  least  for  himself  and  his 
small  family  would  be  assured. 

But  his  years  of  business  in  Mapleton  had  gradually 
exhausted  his  fortune  and  accumulated  a  staggering  load 
of  debt  which  was  the  occasion  of  moments  of  anxiety, 
even  of  fear,  to  the  storekeeper.  There  was  always  the 
thought  in  his  mind  that  against  his  indebtedness  on  the 
credit  side  there  were  his  book  accounts  which  ran  up 


38  THE  MAJOR 

into  big  figures.  There  was  always,  if  the  worst  came 
to  the  worst,  the  farm.  But  if  Mr.  Gwynne  was  no  busi- 
ness man  still  less  was  he  a  farmer.  Tied  to  his  store 
by  reason  of  his  inability  to  afford  a  competent  assistant, 
the  farming  operations  were  carried  on  in  haphazard 
fashion  by  neighbours  who  were  willing  to  liquidate  their 
store  debts  with  odd  days'  work  at  times  most  convenient 
to  themselves,  but  not  always  most  seasonable  for  the 
crops.  Hence  in  good  years,  none  too  good  with  such 
haphazard  farming,  the  farm  was  called  upon  to  rnajce 
up  the  deficiency  in  the  financial  returns  of  the  store. 
In  bad  years  notes  had  to  be  renewed  with  formidable 
accumulations  of  interest.  But  such  was  Mr.  Gwynne's 
invincible  optimism  that  he  met  every  new  embarrass- 
ment with  some  new  project  giving  new  promise  of 
success. 

Meanwhile  during  these  painful  years  his  brave  little 
wife  by  her  garden  and  her  poultry  materially  helped 
to  keep  the  family  in  food  and  to  meet  in  some  degree  the 
household  expenses.  She  was  her  own  servant  except 
that  the  Widow  Martin  came  to  her  aid  twice  a  week. 
Her  skill  with  needle  and  sewing  machine  and  a  certain 
creative  genius  which  she  possessed  enabled  her  to  evolve 
from  her  husband's  eld  clothes  new  clothes  for  her  boy, 
and  from  her  own  clothing,  when  not  too  utterly  worn, 
dresses  for  her  two  little  girls.  And  throughout  these 
years  with  all  their  toil  and  anxiety  she  met  each  day 
with  a  spirit  undaunted  and  with  a  face  that  remained 
serene  as  far  at  least  as  her  husband  and  her  children 
ever  saw.  Nor  did  she  allow  the  whole  weight  of  trials 
to  taint  the  sweetness  of  her  spirit  or  to  dim  her  faith 
in  God.  Devoted  to  her  husband,  she  refused  to  allow 
herself  to  criticise  his  business  ability  or  methods.  The 
failure,  which  she  could  not  but  admit,  was  not  his  fault ; 
it  was  the  fault  of  those  debtors  who  declined  to  pay  their 
just  dues. 

In  an  hour  of  desperation  she  ventured  to  point  out  to 
her  husband  that  these  farmers  were  extending  their 


THE  ESCUTCHEON  CLEARED    39 

holdings  and  buying  machinery  with  notes  that  bore 
interest.  "And  besides,  Michael,"  she  said,  "Lawrence 
must  go  to  High  School  next  year.  He  will  pass  the 
Entrance  examination  this  summer,  and  he  must  go." 

"He  shall  go,"  said  her  husband.  "I  am  resolved  to 
make  a  change  in  my  method  of  business.  I  shall  go 
after  these  men.  They  shall  no  longer  use  my  money 
for  their  business  and  for  their  families  while  my  busi- 
ness and  my  family  suffer.  You  need  not  look  that 
way,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  and  I  shall  begin  at 
once." 

Unfortunately  the  season  was  not  suitable  for  col- 
lections. The  farmers  were  engrossed  with  their  har- 
vesting, and  after  that  with  the  fall  ploughing,  and  later 
with  the  marketing  of  their  grain.  And  as  the  weeks 
passed  Mr.  Gwynne's  indignant  resolve  that  his  custo- 
mers should  not  do  business  on  his  money  gradually 
cooled  down.  The  accounts  were  sent  out  as  usual,  and 
with  the  usual  disappointing  result. 

Meantime  Mr.  Gwynne's  attention  was  diverted  from 
his  delinquent  debtors  by  an  enterprise  which  to  an 
unusual  degree  awakened  his  sympathy  and  kindled  his 
imagination.  The  Reverend  Heber  Harding,  ever  since 
his  unfortunate  encounter  with  the  travelling  evangel* 
ist,  was  haunted  with  the  uneasy  feeling  that  he  and  his 
church  were  not  completely  fulfilling  their  functions  in 
the  community  and  justifying  their  existence.  The  im- 
pression had  been  the  more  painfully  deepened  in  him  by 
the  sudden  eruption  of  a  spirit  of  recklessness  and  a  cer- 
tain tendency  to  general  lawlessness  in  some  of  the  young 
men  of  the  village.  As  a  result  of  a  conference  with  the 
leading  men  of  his  congregation,  he  had  decided  to 
organise  a  young  men's  club.  The  business  of  setting 
this  club  in  active  operation  was  handed  over  to  Mr. 
Gwynne,  than  whom  no  one  in  the  village  was  better 
fitted  for  the  work.  The  project  appealed  to  Mr. 
Gwynne's  imagination.  A  room  was  secured  in  the  dis- 
used Orange  Hall.  Subscriptions  were  received  to  make 


40  THE  MAJOR 

purchase  of  apparatus  and  equipment  necessary  for 
games  of  various  sorts.  With  vivid  remembrance  of  his 
college  days,  Mr.  Gwynne  saw  to  it  that  as  part  of  the 
equipment  a  place  should  be  found  for  a  number  of  sets 
of  boxing  gloves. 

There  were  those  who  were  not  too  sure  of  the  up- 
lifting influence  of  the  boxing  gloves.  But  after  Mr. 
Gwynne  had  given  an  exhibition  of  the  superior  advan- 
tages of  science  over  brute  force  in  a  bout  with  Mack 
Morrison  before  a  crowded  hall,  whatever  doubt  might 
exist  as  to  the  ethical  value  of  the  boxing  gloves,  there 
was  no  doubt  at  all  as  to  their  value  as  an  attractive  force 
in  the  building  up  of  the  membership  of  the  Young  Men's 
Club.  The  boxing  class  became  immensely  popular,  and 
being  conducted  under  Mr.  Gwynne's  most  rigid  super- 
vision, it  gradually  came  to  exert  a  most  salutary  influ- 
ence upon  its  members.  They  learned,  for  one  thing,  to 
take  hard  knocks  without  losing  their  tempers. 

In  the  boxing  class  thus  established,  none  showed  a 
greater  eagerness  to  learn  than  did  Larry.  Every  mo- 
ment of  his  father's  spare  time  he  utilised  to  add  to  his 
knowledge  of  the  various  feints  and  guards  and  cuts  and 
punches  and  hooks  that  appeared  necessary  to  a  scientific 
acquaintance  with  the  manly  art.  He  developed  an 
amazing  capacity  to  accept  punishment.  Indeed,  he  ap- 
peared almost  to  welcome  rough  handling,  especially  from 
the  young  men  and  boys  bigger  than  himself.  Light  in 
weight  and  not  very  muscular,  he  was  wiry  and  quick  in 
eye  and  in  action,  and  under  his  father's  teaching  he 
learned  how  to  "make  his  heels  save  his  head."  He  was 
always  ready  for  a  go  with  any  one  who  might  offer, 
and  when  all  others  had  wearied  of  the  sport  Larry  would 
put  in  an  extra  half  hour  with  the  punching  bag.  With 
one  boy  only  he  refused  to  spar.  No  persuasion,  no 
taunts,  no  challenge  could  entice  him  to  put  on  the  gloves 
with  Mop  Cheatley.  He  could  never  look  steadily  at 
Mop  for  any  length  of  time  without  seeing  again  on  his 
face  the  sneering  grin  and  hearing  again  the  terrible 


THE  ESCUTCHEON  CLEARED     41 

words  spoken  two  years  ago  in  the  cedar  woods  behind 
the  mill  pond :  "You're  a  coward  and  your  mother's  a 
coward  before  you."  He  refused  to  spar  with  Mop  for 
he  knew  that  once  face  to  face  with  him  he  could  not 
spar,  he  must  fight.  But  circumstances  made  the  contest 
inevitable.  In  the  working  out  of  a  tournament,  it 
chanced  that  Mop  was  drawn  to  face  Larry,  and  although 
the  disparity  both  in  age  and  weight  seemed  to  handicap 
the  smaller  boy  to  an  excessive  degree,  Larry's  friends 
who  were  arranging  the  schedule,  among  them  Mack 
Morrison  with  big  Ben  Hopper  and  Joe  Gagneau  as 
chorus,  and  who  knew  something  of  Larry's  skill  with  his 
hands  and  speed  on  his  feet,  were  not  unwilling  to  allow 
the  draw  to  stand. 

The  days  preceding  the  tournament  were  days  of  mis- 
ery for  Larry.  The  decision  in  the  contest  would  of 
course  be  on  points  and  he  knew  that  he  could  outpoint 
without  much  difficulty  his  antagonist  who  was  clumsy 
and  slow.  For  the  decision  Larry  cared  nothing  at  all. 
At  the  most  he  had  little  to  lose  for  it  would  be  but 
small  disgrace  to  be  beaten  by  a  boy  so  much  bigger. 
The  cause  of  his  distress  was  something  quite  other  than 
this.  He  knew  that  from  the  first  moment  of  the  bout  he 
would  be  fighting.  That  this  undoubtedly  would  make 
Mop  fight  back,  and  he  was  haunted  by  the  fear  that  in 
the  stress  of  battle  he  might  play  the  coward.  Would 
he  be  able  to  stand  up  to  Mop  when  the  fight  began  to  go 
against  him?  And  suppose  he  should  run  away,  should 
show  himself  a  coward?  How  could  he  ever  live  after 
that,  how  look  any  of  the  boys  in  the  face?  Worst  of 
all,  how  could  he  face  his  father,  whose  approval  in  this 
boxing  game  since  he  had  revealed  himself  as  a  "fighting 
man"  the  boy  coveted  more  than  anything  else.  But 
his  father  was  not  present  when  the  boy  stepped  into  the 
ring.  Impelled  by  the  dread  of  showing  himself  a  cow- 
ard and  running  away,  Larry  flung  to  the  winds  his 
father's  favourite  maxim,  "Let  your  heels  save  your 
head,"  a  maxim  which  ought  if  ever  to  be  observed  in 


42  THE  MAJOR 

such  a  bout  as  this  in  which  he  was  so  out-classed  in 
weight. 

At  the  word  "Time"  Larry  leaped  for  his  opponent 
and  almost  before  Mop  was  aware  that  the  battle  had 
begun  he  was  being  blinded,  staggered  and  beaten  all 
around  the  ring,  and  only  a  lucky  blow,  flung  wildly  into 
space  and  landing  heavily  upon  Larry's  face,  saved  him 
from  complete  defeat  in  the  first  round.  That  single 
heavy  blow  was  sufficient  to  give  temporary  pause  to 
Larry's  impetuosity,  but  as  soon  as  he  got  back  his 
wind  he  once  more  ran  in,  feinting,  ducking,  plunging, 
but  ever  pressing  hard  upon  his  antagonist,  who,  having 
recovered  from  his  first  surprise,  began  to  plant  heavy 
blows  upon  Larry's  ribs,  until  at  the  end  of  the  round  the 
boy  was  glad  enough  to  sink  back  into  his  corner  gasping 
for  breath. 

Ben  Hopper,  who  was  acting  as  Larry's  second,  was 
filled  with  surprise  and  indignation  at  his  principal's 
fighting  tactics.  "You  blame  fool,"  he  said  to  Larry  as 
he  ministered  to  his  all  too  apparent  necessities.  "What 
do  you  think  you're  doing  ?  Do  you  think  he's  a  sausage 
machine  and  you  a  bloody  porker?  Keep  away  from 
him.  You  know  he's  too  heavy  for  you.  If  he  were  not 
so  clumsy  he  would  have  had  you  out  before  this.  One 
good  punch  from  him  would  do  it.  Why  don't  you  do 
your  foot  work?" 

"Corec,"  said  Joe.  "Larree,  you  fight  all  the  same 
Mack  Morrison's  ram.  Head  down,  jump  in — head 
down,  jump  in.  Why  you  run  so  queek  on  dat  Mop 
feller?  Why  you  not  make  him  run  after  you?" 

"He's  right,  Larry,"  said  Ben.  "Use  your  feet; 
make  him  come  after  you.  You  will  sure  get  his 
wind." 

But  Larry  stood  recovering  his  breath,  glowering 
meanwhile  at  his  enemy  across  the  ring.  He  neither 
heeded  nor  heard  the  entreaties  of  his  friends.  In  his 
ears  one  phrase  only  rang  with  insistent  reiteration. 
"He's  a  coward,  an'  his  mother's  a  coward  before  him." 


THE  ESCUTCHEON  CLEARED     48 

Only  one  obsession  possessed  him,  he  must  keep  hard  at 
his  enemy. 

"Time!"  The  second  round  was  on.  Like  a  tiger 
upon  his  prey,  Larry  was  upon  his  foe,  driving  fast  and 
furious  blows  upon  his  head  and  face.  But  this  time 
Mop  was  ready  for  him,  and  bearing  in,  head  down,  he 
took  on  his  left  guard  the  driving  blows  with  no  appar- 
ent injury,  and  sent  back  some  half  a  dozen  heavy  swings 
that  broke  down  Larry's  guard,  drove  him  across  the 
ring  and  finally  brought  him  gasping  to  his  knees. 

"Stay  where  you  are,"  yelled  Ben.  "Take  your  count, 
Larry,  and  keep  away  from  him.  Do  you  hear  me? 
Keep  away,  always  away." 

At  the  ninth  count  Larry  sprang  to  his  feet,  easily 
eluded  Mop's  swinging  blow,  and  slipping  lightly  around 
the  ring,  escaped  further  attack  until  he  had  picked  up 
his  wind. 

"That's  the  game,"  yelled  Ben.  "Keep  it  -up,  old  boy, 
keep  it  up." 

"C'est  ban  stuff,  Larree,"  yelled  Joe,  dancing  wildly  in 
Ben's  corner.  "C'est  bon  stuff,  Larree,  for  sure." 

But  once  more  master  of  his  wind,  Larry  renewed  his 
battering  assault  upon  Mop's  head,  inflicting  some  dam- 
age indeed,  but  receiving  heavy  punishment  in  return. 
The  close  of  the  round  found  him  exhausted  and  bleed- 
ing. In  spite  of  the  adjurations  and  entreaties  of  his 
friends,  Larry  pursued  the  same  tactics  in  the  third  round, 
which  ended  even  more  disastrously  than  the  second.  His 
condition  was  serious  enough  to  bring  Mack  Morrison  to 
his  side. 

"What's  up  with  you,  Larry?"  said  Mack.  "Where's 
your  science  gone?  Why  don't  you  play  the  game  as 
you  know  it?" 

"Mack,  Mack,"  panted  Larry.  "It  ain't  a  game.  I'm 
— I'm  fighting,  and,  Mack,  I'm  not  afraid  of  him." 

Mack  whistled.  "Who  said  you  are  afraid  of  him, 
youngster?" 

"He  did,  Mack,  he  called  me  a  coward — you  remem- 


44  THE  MAJOR 

ber,  Ben,  up  in  the  cedar  bush  that  day  we  played  hookey 
—you  remember,  Ben?"  Ben  nodded.  "He  called  me 
a  coward  and" — grinding  the  words  between  his  teeth — 
"he  called  my  mother  a  coward.  But  I  am  not  afraid  of 
him,  Mack — he  can't  make  me  afraid ;  he  can't  make  me 
run  away."  What  with  his  rage  and  his  secret  fear,  the 
boy  had  quite  lost  control  of  himself. 

"So  that's  it,"  said  Mack,  reading  both  rage  and  fear 
in  his  eyes.  "Listen  to  me,  Larry,"  he  continued  in  a 
voice  low  and  stern.  "You  quit  this  monkey  work  right 
now  or,  by  the  jumping  Jehoshaphat,  I  will  lick  the  tar 
out  of  you  myself  when  this  is  over.  You're  not  afraid 
of  him ;  I  know  that — we  all  know  that.  But  you  don't 
want  to  kill  him,  eh  ?  No.  What  you  want  is  to  make 
him  look  like  a  fool.  Well,  then,  fight,  if  you  want  to 
fight,  but  remember  your  rules.  Play  with  him,  make 
him  follow  you  round  until  you  get  his  wind;  there's 
your  chance.  Then  get  him  hard  and  get  away." 

But  the  boy  spoke  no  word  in  reply.  He  was  staring 
gloomily,  desperately,  before  him  into  space. 

Mack  seized  him,  and  shaking  him  impatiently,  said, 
"Larry  boy,  listen  to  me.  Don't  you  care  for  anybody 
but  yourself?  Don't  you  care  for  me  at  all?" 

At  that  Larry  appeared  to  wake  up  as  from  a  sleep. 

"What  did  you  say,  Mack?"  he  answered.  "Of  course 
I  care,  you  know  that,  Mack." 

"Then,"  said  Mack,  "for  God's  sake,  get  a  smile  on 
your  face.  Smile,  confound  you,  smile." 

The  boy  passed  his  gloved  hand  over  his  face,  looked 
for  a  moment  into  Mack's  eyes,  and  the  old  smile  came 
back  to  his  lips. 

"Now  you're  all  right,"  cried  Mack  in  triumph.  "Re- 
member your  father's  rule,  'Keep  your  head  with  your 
heels.'*  And  Larry  did  remember!  For  on  the  call 
of  "Time"  he  slipped  from  Ben's  knees  and  began  to  cir- 
cle lightly  about  Mop,  smiling  upon  him  and  waiting  his 
chance.  His  chance  soon  came,  for  Mop;  thinking  that 
his  enemy  had  had  about  enough  and  was  ready  to  quit, 


THE  ESCUTCHEON  CLEARED    45 

adopted  aggressive  tactics,  and,  feinting  with  his  right, 
swung  heavily  with  his  left  at  the  smiling  face.  But 
the  face  proved  elusive,  and  upon  Mop's  undefended  head 
a  series  of  blows  dealt  with  savage  fury  took  all  the  heart 
out  of  him.  So  he  cried  to  the  referee  as  he  ducked 
into  his  corner: 

"He's  fightin'.     He's  fightin'.     I'm  not  fightin'." 

"You'd  better  get  busy  then,"  called  Ben  derisively 
from  his  corner.  "Now,  Larry,  sail  into  him,"  and 
Larry  sailed  in  with  such  vehemence  that  Mop  fairly 
turned  tail  and  ran  around  the  ring,  Larry  pursuing  him 
amid  the  delighted  shouts  of  the  spectators. 

This  ended  the  contest,  the  judges  giving  the  decision 
to  Mop,  who,  though  obviously  beaten  at  the  finish,  had 
showed  a  distinct  superiority  on  points.  As  for  Larry, 
the  decision  grieved  him  not  at  all.  He  carried  home  a 
face  slightly  disfigured  but  triumphant,  his  sole  comment 
to  his  mother  upon  the  contest  being,  "I  was  not  afraid 
of  him  anyway,  mother;  he  could  not  make  me  run." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  this  boxing,  Lawrence,"  she  said, 
but  the  boy  caught  the  glint  in  her  eyes  and  was  well 
enough  content. 

In  the  late  evening  Ben,  with  Larry  and  Joe  following 
him,  took  occasion  to  look  in  upon  Mop  at  the  butcher 
shop. 

"Say,  Mop,"  said  Ben  pleasantly,  "what  do  you  think 
of  Larry  now?  Would  you  say  he  was  ^coward?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Mop,  suspecting  trouble. 

"Just  what  I  say,"  said  Ben,  while  Larry  moved  up 
within  range,  his  face  white,  his  eyes  gleaming. 

"I  ain't  saying  nothing  about  nobody,"  replied  Mop 
sullenly,  with  the  tail  of  his  eye  upon  Larry's  white  lace 
and  gleaming  eyes. 

"You  say  him  one  tam — in  de  cedar  swamp,"  said  Joe. 

"Would  you  say  Larry  was  a  coward?"  repeated  Ben. 

"No,  I  wouldn't  say  nothing  of  the  sort,"  replied  Mop 
promptly. 

"Do  you  think  he  is  a  coward?"  persisted  Ben. 


46  THE  MAJOR 

"No,"  said  Mop,  "I  know  he  ain't  no  coward.  He 
don't  fight  like  no  coward." 

This  appeared  to  satisfy  Ben,  but  Larry,  moving 
slightly  nearer,  took  up  the  word  for  himself. 

"And  would  you  say  my  mother  was  a  coward?"  he 
asked  in  a  tense  voice,  his  body  gathered  as  if  for  a 
spring. 

"Larry,  I  wouldn't  say  nothing  about  your  mother," 
replied  Mop  earnestly.  "I  think  your  mother's  a  bully 
good  woman.  She  was  awfully  good  to  my  mother  last 
winter,  I  know." 

The  spring  went  out  of  Larry's  body.  He  backed 
away  from  Mop  and  the  boys. 

"Who  said  your  mother  was  a  coward?"  inquired 
Mop  indignantly.  "If  anybody  says  so,  you  bring  him 
to  me,  and  I'll  punch  his  head  good,  I  will." 

Larry  looked  foolishly  at  Ben,  who  looked  foolishly 
back  at  him. 

"Say,  Mop,"  said  Larry,  a  smile  like  a  warm  light 
passing  over  his  face,  "come  on  up  and  see  my  new  rab- 
bits." 


CHAPTER  IV 

SALVAGE 

ANOTHER  and  greater  enterprise  was  diverting  Mr. 
Gwynne's  attention  from  the  delinquencies  of  his 
debtors,  namely:  the  entrance  of  the  National  Machine 
Company  into  the  remote  and  placid  life  of  Mapleton  and 
its  district.  The  manager  of  this  company,  having  spent 
an  afternoon  with  Mr.  Gwynne  in  his  store  and  having 
been  impressed  by  his  charm  and  power  of  persuasive 
talk,  made  him  a  proposition  that  he  should  act  as  agent 
of  the  National  Machine  Company.  The  arrangement 
suggested  was  one  that  appealed  to  Mr.  Gwynne's  highly 
optimistic  temperament.  He  was  not  to  work  for  a  mere 
salary,  but  was  to  purchase  outright  the  various  pro- 
ductions of  the  National  Machine  Company  and  receive 
a  commission  upon  all  his  sales.  The  figures  placed  be- 
fore Mr.  Gwynne  by  the  manager  of  the  company  were 
sufficiently  impressive,  indeed  so  impressive  that  Mr. 
Gwynne  at  once  accepted  the  proposition,  and  the  Maple- 
ton  branch  of  the  National  Machine  Company  became  an 
established  fact. 

There  was  no  longer  any  question  as  to  the  education 
of  his  family.  In  another  year  when  his  boy  had  passed 
his  entrance  examinations  he  would  be  able  to  send  him 
to  the  high  school  in  the  neighbouring  town  of  Easton, 
properly  equipped  and  relieved  of  those  handicaps  with 
which  poverty  can  so  easily  wash  all  the  colour  out  of 
young  life.  A  brilliant  picture  the  father  drew  before 
the  eyes  of  his  wife  of  the  educational  career  of  their 
boy,  who  had  already  given  promise  of  exceptional  abil- 
ity. But  while  she  listened,  charmed,  delighted  and  filled 
with  proud  anticipation,  the  mother  with  none  the  less 

47 


48  THE  MAJOR 

painful  care  saved  her  garden  and  poultry  money,  cut 
to  bare  necessity  her  household  expenses,  skimped  her- 
self and  her  children  in  the  matter  of  dress,  and  by  every 
device  which  she  had  learned  in  the  bitter  school  of  ex- 
perience during  the  ten  years  of  her  Canadian  life,  made 
such  preparation  for  the  expenses  of  her  boy's  education 
as  would  render  it  unnecessary  to  call  upon  the  wealth 
realised  from  the  National  Machine  Company's  business. 

In  the  matter  of  providing  for  the  expense  of  his  edu- 
cation Larry  himself  began  to  take  a  not  unimportant 
part.  During  the  past  two  years  he  had  gained  not  only 
in  size  but  in  the  vigour  of  his  health,  and  in  almost  every 
kind  of  work  on  the  farm  he  could  now  take  a  man's 
place.  His  mother  would  not  permit  him  to  give  his  time 
and  strength  to  their  own  farming  operations  for  the 
sufficient  reason  that  from  these  there  would  be  no  return 
in  ready  money,  and  ready  money  was  absolutely  essen- 
tial to  the  success  of  her  plans.  The  boy  was  quick, 
eager  and  well-mannered,  and  in  consequence  had  no 
difficulty  in  finding  employment  with  the  neighbouring 
farmers.  So  much  was  this  the  case  that  long  before 
the  closing  of  school  in  the  early  summer  Larry  was 
offered  work  for  the  whole  summer  by  their  neighbour, 
Mr.  Martin,  at  one  dollar  a  day.  He  could  hardly  be- 
lieve his  good  fortune  inasmuch  as  he  had  never  in  all  his 
life  been  paid  at  a  rate  exceeding  half  that  amount. 

"I  shall  have  a  lot  of  money,  mother,"  he  said,  "for 
my  high  school  now.  I  wonder  how  much  it  will  cost 
me  for  the  term." 

Thereupon  his  mother  seized  the  opportunity  to  discuss 
the  problem  with  him  which  she  knew  they  must  face  to- 
gether. 

"Let  us  see/'  said  his  mother. 

Then  each  with  pencil  and  paper  they  drew  up  to  the 
table,  but  after  the  most  careful  paring  down  of  expenses 
and  the  most  optimistic  estimate  of  their  resources  con- 
sistent with  fact,  they  made  the  rather  discouraging  dis- 
covery that  they  were  still  fifty  dollars  short. 


SALVAGE  49 

"I  can't  do  it,  mother,"  said  Larry,  in  bitter  disap- 
pointment. 

"We  shall  not  give  up  yet,"  said  his  mother.  "Indeed, 
I  think  with  what  we  can  make  out  of  the  farm  and  gar- 
den and  poultry,  we  ought  to  be  able  to  manage." 

But  a  new  and  chilling  thought  had  come  to  the  lad. 
He  pondered  silently,  and  as  he  pondered  his  face  became 
heavily  shadowed. 

"Say,  mother,"  he  said  suddenly,  "we  can't  do  it. 
How  much  are  you  going  to  spend  on  your  clothes?" 

"All  I  need,"  said  his  mother  brightly. 

"But  how  much?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"How  much  did  you  spend  last  year?" 

"Oh,  never  mind,  Lawrence;  that  really  does  not 
matter." 

But  the  boy  insisted.  "Did  you  spend  thirty-one  dol- 
lars ?"  His  mother  laughed  at  him. 

"Did  you  spend  twenty?" 

"No." 

"Did  you  spend  fifteen?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  his  mother,  "and  I  am  not  going 
to  talk  about  it.  My  clothes  and  the  girls'  clothes  will  be 
all  right  for  this  year." 

"Mother,"  said  Larry,  "I  am  not  going  to  school  this 
year.  I  am  not  going  to  spend  thirty-one  dollars  for 
clothes  while  you  and  the  girls  spend  nothing.  I  am  go- 
ing to  work  first,  and  then  go  to  school  I  am  not  going 
to  school  this  year."  The  boy  rose  from  his  chair  and 
stood  and  faced  his  mother  with  quivering  lips,  fighting 
to  keep  back  the  tears. 

Mother  reached  out  her  hand  and  drew  him  toward 
her.  "My  darling  boy,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "I  love 
to  hear  you,  but  listen  to  me.  Are  you  listening?  You 
must  be  educated.  Nothing  must  interfere  with  that. 
No  suffering  is  too  great  to  be  endured  by  all  of  us.  The 
time  for  education  is  youth;  first  because  your  mind 
works  more  quickly  a^d  retains  better  what  it  acquires, 


50  THE  MAJOR 

and  second  because  it  is  a  better  investment,  and  you  will 
sooner  be  able  to  pay  us  all  back  what  we  spend  now. 
So  you  will  go  to  school  this  year,  boy,  if  we  can  manage 
it,  and  I  think  we  can.  Some  day,"  she  added,  patting 
him  on  the  shoulder,  and  holding  him  off  from  her, 
"when  you  are  rich  you  will  give  me  a  silk  dress." 

"Won't  I  just,"  cried  the  boy  passionately,  "and  the 
girls  too,  and  everything  you  want,  and  I  will  give  you  a 
good  time  yet,  mother.  You  deserve  the  best  a  woman 
ever  had  and  I  will  give  it  to  you." 

The  mother  turned  her  face  away  from  him  and  looked 
out  of  the  window.  She  saw  not  the  fields  of  growing 
grain  but  a  long  vista  of  happy  days  ever  growing  in 
beauty  and  in  glory  until  she  could  see  no  more  for  the 
tears  that  quietly  fell.  The  boy  dropped  on  his  knees 
beside  her. 

"Oh,  mother,  mother,"  he  said.  "You  have  been  won- 
derful to  us  all,  and  you  have  had  an  awfully  hard  time. 
A  fellow  never  knows,  does  he?" 

"A  hard  time?  A  hard  time?"  said  his  mother,  a 
great  surprise  in  her  voice  and  in.  her  face.  "No,  my 
boy,  no  hard  time  for  me.  A  dear,  dear,  lovely  time  with 
you  all,  every  day,  every  day.  Never  do  I  want  a  bet- 
ter time  than  I  have  had  with  you." 

The  event  proved  the  wisdom  of  Mrs.  Gwynne's  deter- 
mination to  put  little  faith  in  the  optimistic  confidence  of 
her  husband  in  regard  to  the  profits  to  be  expected  from 
the  operations  of  the  National  Machine  Company.  A 
year's  business  was  sufficient  to  demonstrate  that  the 
Mapleton  branch  of  the  National  Machine  Company  was 
bankrupt.  By  every  law  of  life  it  ought  to  be  bankrupt. 
With  all  his  many  excellent  qualities  Mr.  Gwynne  pos- 
sessed certain  fatal  defects  as  a  business  man.  With 
him  the  supreme  consideration  was  simply  the  getting  rid 
of  the  machines  purchased  by  him  as  rapidly  and  in  such 
large  numbers  as  possible.  He  cheerfully  ignored  the 
laws  that  governed  the  elemental  item  of  profit.  Hence 
the  relentless  Nemesis  that  sooner  or  later  overtakes 


SALVAGE  51 

those  who,  whether  ignorantly  or  maliciously,  break  laws, 
fell  upon  the  National  Machine  Company  and  upon  those 
who  had  the  misfortune  to  be  associated  with  it. 

In  the  wreck  of  the  business  Mr.  Gwynne's  store,  upon 
which  the  National  Machine  Company  had  taken  the 
precaution  to  secure  a  mortgage,  was  also  involved.  The 
business  went  into  the  hands  of  a  receiver  and  was  bought 
up  at  about  fifty  cents  on  the  dollar  by  a  man  recently 
from  western  Canada  whose  specialty  was  the  handling 
of  business  wreckage.  No  one  after  even  a  cursory 
glance  at  his  face  would  suspect  Mr.  H.  P.  Sleighter  of 
deficiency  in  business  qualities.  The  snap  in  the  cold 
grey  eye,  the  firm  lines  in  the  long  jaw,  -the  thin  lips 
pressed  hard  together,  all  proclaimed  the  hard-headed, 
cold-hearted,  iron-willed  man  of  business.  Mr.  Sleigh- 
ter, moreover,  had  a  remarkable  instinct  for  values,  more 
especially  for  salvage  values.  It  was  this  instinct  that 
led  him  to  the  purchase  of  the  National  Machine  Com- 
pany wreckage,  which  included  as  well  the  Mapleton 
general  store,  with  its  assets  in  stock  and  book  debts. 

Mr.  Sleighter's  methods  with  the  easy-going  debtors  of 
the  company  in  Mapleton  and  the  surrounding  district 
were  of  such  galvanic  vigour  that  even  so  practiced  a 
procrastinator  as  Farmer  Martin  found  himself  actually 
drawing  money  from  his  hoarded  bank  account  to  pay  his 
store  debts — a  thing  unheard  of  in  that  community — and 
to  meet  overdue  payments  upon  the  various  implements 
which  he  had  purchased  from  the  National  Machine 
Company.  It  was  not  until  after  the  money  had  been 
drawn  and  actually  paid  that  Mr.  Martin  came  fully  to 
realise  the  extraordinary  nature  of  his  act 

"That  there  feller,"  he  said,  looking  from  the  receipt 
in  his  hand  to  the  store  door  through  which  the  form  of 
Mr.  Sleighter  had  just  vanished,  "that  there  feller,  he's 
too  swift  fer  me.  He  ain't  got  any  innards  to  speak 
of;  he'd  steal  the  pants  off  a  dog,  he  would." 

The  application  of  these  same  galvanically  vigorous 
methods  to  Mr.  Gwynne's  debtors  produced  surprising 


52  THE  MAJOR 

results.  Mr.  Sleighter  made  the  astounding  discovery 
that  Mr.  Gwynne's  business  instead  of  being  bankrupt 
would  produce  not  only  one  hundred  cents  on  the  dollar, 
but  a  slight  profit  as  well.  This  discovery  annoyed  Mr. 
Sleighter.  He  hated  to  confess  a  mistake  in  business 
judgment,  and  he  frankly  confessed  he  "hated  to  see 
good  money  roll  past  him."  Hence  with  something  of 
a  grudge  he  prepared  to  hand  over  to  Mr.  Gwynne  some 
twelve  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  of  salvage  money. 

"I  suppose  he  will  be  selling  out  his  farm,"  said  Mr. 
Sleighter  in  conversation  with  Mr.  Martin.  "What's 
land  worth  about  here?" 

"Oh,  somewhere  about  a  hundred." 

"A  hundred  dollars  an  acre !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Sleighter. 
"Don't  try  to  put  anything  over  on  me.  Personally  I 
admire  your  generous,  kindly  nature,  but  as  a  financial 
adviser  you  don't  shine.  I  guess  I  won't  bother  about 
that  farm  anyway." 

Mr.  Sleighter's  question  awakened  earnest  thought  in 
Mr.  Martin,  and  the  next  morning  he  approached  Mr. 
Gwynne  with  a  proposition  to  purchase  his  farm  with 
its  attached  buildings.  Mr.  Martin  made  it  clear  that  he 
was  chiefly  anxious  to  do  a  neighbourly  turn. 

"The  house  and  the  stable  ain't  worth  much,"  he  said, 
"but  the  farm  bein'  handy  to  my  property,  I  own  up  is 
worth  more  to  me  than  to  other  folks,  perhaps.  So  bein' 
old  neighbours,  I  am  willin'  to  give  four  thousand  dol- 
lars, half  cash  down,  for  the  hull  business." 

"Surely  that  is  a  low  figure,"  said  Mr.  Gwynne. 

"Low  figure!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Martin.  "All  right,  I 
ain't  pressin'  it  on  you;  but  if  you  could  get  any  one  in 
this  neighbourhood  to  offer  four  thousand  dollars  for 
your  farm,  I  will  give  you  five  hundred  extra.  But,"  he 
continued,  "I  ain't  pressin'  you.  Don't  much  matter  to 
me." 

The  offer  came  at  a  psychologically  critical  moment, 
when  Mr.  Gwynne  was  desperately  seeking  escape  from 
an  intolerable  environment. 


SALVAGE  53 

"I  shall  consult  Mrs.  Gwynne,"  he  said,  "and  let  you 
know  in  a  few  days." 

"Don't  know  as  I  can  wait  that  long,"  said  Mr.  Mar- 
tin. "I  made  the  offer  to  oblige  you,  and  besides  I  got 
a  chance  at  the  Monroe  fifty." 

"Call  to-morrow  night,"  said  Mr.  Gwynne,  and  car- 
ried the  proposal  home  to  his  wife. 

The  suggestion  to  break  up  her  home  to  a  woman  of 
Mrs.  Gwynne' s  type  is  almost  shattering.  In  the  big 
world  full  of  nameless  terrors  the  one  spot  offering  shel- 
ter and  safety  for  herself  and  her  family  was  her  home. 
But  after  all,  her  husband  was  her  great  concern,  and  she 
could  see  he  was  eager  for  the  change.  She  made  up 
her  mind  to  the  sacrifice  and  decided  that  she  would 
break  up  the  home  in  Mapleton  and  with  her  husband 
try  again  their  fortune. 

"But  four  thousand  dollars,"  she  said,  "is  surely  a 
small  price." 

"Small?  I  know  it  is  small,  but  Martin  knows  I  am 
in  a  corner.  He  is  a  highway  robber." 

It  was  a  bitter  experience  for  him  to  be  forced  to 
confess  himself  a  business  failure,  and  with  this  bitter- 
ness there  mingled  a  feeling  of  hostility  toward  all  suc- 
cessful business  men.  To  him  it  seemed  that  in  order 
to  win  success  in  business  a  man  must  become,  like  Mr. 
Martin,  a  highway  robber.  In  this  mood  of  bitterness 
and  hostility  toward  successful  men,  Mr.  Sleighter  found 
him  the  next  day. 

"Couldn't  find  you  at  the  store,"  said  that  gentleman, 
walking  in  with  his  hat  on  his  head.  "I  wanted  to  get 
this  business  straightened  up,  so  I  just  came  in.  Won't 
take  more  than  five  minutes.  I  guess  you  won't  mind 
taking  a  little  check  from  me.  Your  business  turned  out 
better  than  that  fooi  of  an  assignee  thought.  Don't  hurt 
me  any,  of  course.  I  got  all  that  was  comin'  to  me  out 
of  it,  but  here's  this  check.  Perhaps  you'll  sign  the  re- 
ceipt. I  guess  they  been  puttin'  it  over  you  all  right. 
You're  a  little  too  soft  with  'em." 


54  THE  MAJOR 

Mr.  Gwynne  was  an  even-tempered  man,  but  Mr. 
Sleighter's  patronising  manner  and  his  criticism  of  his 
business  ability  wrought  in  him  a  rage  that  he  could  with 
difficulty  control.  He  remembered  he  was  in  his  own 
house,  however,  and  that  the  man  before  him  was  a 
stranger.  While  he  was  searching  for  pen  and  ink 
the  door  opened  and  his  wife  entered  the  room.  Mr. 
Sleighter,  with  his  hat  still  upon  his  head,  was  intently 
gazing  out  of  the  window,  easily  rocking  on  the  two 
hind  legs  of  the  chair.  The  door  opened  behind  him. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Gwynne,  "will  you  excuse  me?  I 
am  engaged." 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  didn't  know  any  qne  was 
here.  I  merely  wanted " 

Mr.  Sleighter  glanced  over  his  shoulder. 

"Mr.  Sleighter,"  said  Mr.  Gwynne.     "My  wife." 

It  was  not  his  tone,  however,  that  brought  Mr.  Sleigh- 
ter hurriedly  to  hi?  feet  with  his  hat  in  his  hand.  It  was 
something  in  the  bearing  of  the  little  lady  standing  behind 
him. 

"Pleased  to  meet  you,  ma'am.  I  hope  you  are  well," 
he  said,  bowing  elaborately  before  her. 

"Thank  you  very  much,  I  am  quite  well.  I  have 
heard  a  great  deal  about  you,  Mr.  Sleighter.  I  am  glad 
to  meet  you." 

Mr.  Sleighter  held  her  hand  a  moment  while  her  eyes 
rested  quietly  and  kindly,  if  searchingly,  upon  his  face. 
This  was  the  man  who  had  profited  by  her  husband's 
loss.  Was  he  too  a  highway  robber?  Mr.  Sleighter 
somehow  felt  as  if  his  soul  were  being  exposed  to  a 
searchlight.  It  made  him  uncomfortable. 

"It's  a  fine  day,  ma'am,"  he  remarked,  seeking  cover 
for  his  soul  in  conversation.  "A  little  warm  for  the 
time,"  he  continued,  wiping  his  forehead  with  a  highly 
coloured  silk  handkerchief. 

"Won't  you  sit  down,  Mr.  Sleighter?  Do  you  find  it 
warm?  I  thought  there  was  quite  a  chilly  wind  to-day. 
But  then  you  are  more  accustomed  to  the  wind  than  I." 


SALVAGE  55 

The  searching-  eyes  were  holding  him  steadily,  but  the 
face  was  kindly  and  full  of  genuine  interest. 

"I  guess  so,"  he  said  with  a  little  laugh.  He  would 
have  scorned  to  acknowledge  that  his  laugh  was  nervous 
and  thin.  "I  come  from  the  windy  side  of  the  earth." 

"Oh !" 

"Yes,  I  am  from  out  West — Alberta.  We  have  got  all 
the  winds  there  is  and  the  Chinook  besides  for  a  change. '* 

"Alberta?  The  Chinook?"  The  eyes  became  legs 
searching. 

"Yes,  that's  the  wind  that  comes  down  from  the  moun- 
tains and  licks  up  the  snow  at  ten  miles  an  hour." 

"Oh!" 

"It  was  an  Alberta  man,  you  know,  who  invented  •* 
rig  with  runners  in  front  and  wheels  behind."  The  iadv 
was  bewildered.  "To  catch  up  with  the  Chinook,  yon. 
see.  One  of  my  kid's  jokes.  Not  much  of  a  joke>  I 
guess,  but  he's  always  ringin'  'em  in." 

"You  have  a  son,  Mr.  Sleighter?  He's  in  Albert* 
now?" 

"No,  the  missis  and  the  kids,  three  of  them,  are  nx 
Winnipeg.  She  got  tired  of  it  out  there;  she  was  always, 
wantin'  the  city,  so  I  gave  in." 

"I  hear  it's  a  beautiful  country  out  there." 

"Now  you're  talkin',  ma'am."  She  had  touched  Mi. 
Sleighter's  favourite  theme.  Indeed,  the  absorbing  pas- 
sion of  his  life,  next  to  the  picking  up  of  good  salvage 
bargains,  was  his  home  in  the  Foothill  country  of  tht 
West. 

While  he  was  engaged  in  an  enhusiastic  description- 
of  the  glories  of  that  wonderland  the  children  came  ii> 
and  were  presented.  Mr.  Gwynne  handed  his  visitor 
his  receipt  and  stood  suggestively  awaiting  his  departure. 
But  Mr.  Sleighter  was  fairly  started  on  his  subject  and 
was  not  to  be  denied.  The  little  girls  drew  shyly  near 
him  with  eyes  aglow  while  Mr.  Sleighter's  words  rolled 
forth  like  a  mountain  flood.  Eloquently  he  described 
the  beauty  of  the  rolling  lands,  the  splendour  of  the 


56  THE  MAJOR 

mountains,  the  richness  of  the  soil,  the  health-giving 
qualities  of  the  climate,  the  warm-hearted  hospitality  of 
the  settlers. 

"None  of  your  pin-head  two-by-four  shysters  that  you 
see  here  in  the  East,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Sleighter.  "I  mean 
some  folks,  of  course,"  he  explained  in  some  confusion. 

"And  the  children,  did  they  like  it?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Gwynne. 

"You  bet  they  did.  Why,  they  was  all  over  the  hull 
prairie,  all  day  and  all  night,  too,  mostly — on  ponies  you 
know." 

"Ponies!"  exclaimed  Larry.  "Did  they  have  ponies? 
Could  they  ride?  How  big  are  they?" 

"How  big?  Blamed  if  I  know.  Let's  see.  There's 
Tom.  He's  just  about  a  man,  or  thinks  he  is.  He's 
sixteen  or  seventeen.  Just  now  he's  in  the  high  school 
at  Winnipeg.  He  don't  like  it  though."  Here  a  shadow 
fell  on  Mr.  Sleighter's  face.  "And  the  girls — there's 
Hazel,  she's  fifteen,  arid  Ethel  Mary,  she's  eleven  or  some- 
where thereabouts.  I  never  can  keep  track  of  them. 
They  keep  againin'  on  me  all  the  time.'" 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne.  "It  is  hard  to  realise  that 
they  are  growing  up  and  will  soon  be  away  from  us." 

"That's  so,"  said  Mr.  Sleighter. 

"And  the  schools,"  continued  Mrs.  Gwynne,  "are  there 
good  schools?" 

"Schools?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Sleighter.  "There's  a  real 
good  school  not  more  than  a  couple  of  miles  away." 

"Two  miles,"  exclaimed  the  mother  aghast. 

"Oh,  that's  nothin'.  They  ride,  of  course.  But  we 
ain't  got  much  of  a  master  now.  He's  rather — you 
know."  Mr.  Sleighter  significantly  tipped  up  with  his 
little  finger  and  winked  toward  Mr.  Gwynne. 

"But  you  love  that  country,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  love  it  and  I  hated  to  leave  it.  But  the  missis 
never  liked  it.  She  was  city  born  and  bred.  She  wanted 
the  lights,  I  guess,  and  the  shows.  I  don't  blame  her, 
though,"  he  continued  rapidly.  "It's  kind  of  lonely  for 


SALVAGE  57 

women,  you  know.  They've  got  to  have  amusements  and 
:hings.  But  it's  God's  own  country,  believe  me,  and  I 
would  go  back  to-morrow,  if  I  could." 

"You  still  own  your  ranch?" 

"Yes ;  can't  sell  easily.  You  see  there's  not  much  broke 
>n  it — only  a  hundred  acres  or  so." 

"Why,  how  big  is  the  ranch?" 

"Five  hundred  acres  and  a  wood  lot.  I  did  not  farm 
much,  though — mostly  cattle  and  horses.  I  was  away  a 
?ood  deal  on  the  trail." 

"The  trail?" 

"Yes,  buying  cattle  and  selling  again.  That  was  the 
worst  of  it.  I  am  not  much  of  a  farmer,  though  farm- 
ing's all  right  there,  and  I  was  away  almost  all  of  the 
time.  I  guess  that  made  it  pretty  hard  for  the  missis  and 
:he  kids." 

At  this  point  the  Widow  Martin  came  in  to  lay  the  table 
for  tea.  Mr.  Sleighter  took  the  hint  and  rose  to  go. 

"You  will  do  us  the  pleasure  of  staying  for  tea.  Mr. 
Sleighter?"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne  earnestly. 

"Oh,  do,"  said  the  youngest  little  girl,  Nora,  whose 
snapping  black  eyes  gleamed  with  eager  desire  to  hear 
more  of  the  wonderful  western  land. 

"Yes,  do,  and  tell  us  more,"  said  the  boy. 

"I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  stay,"  continued  Mrs. 
Gwynne. 

Mr.  Sleighter  glanced  at  her  husband.  "Why,  cer- 
tainly," said  Mr.  Gwynne,  "we  would  be  glad  to  have 
you." 

Still  Mr.  Sleighter  hesitated.  "Say,  I  don't  know 
what's  come  over  me.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  on  the 
stump,"  he  said  in  an  embarrassed  voice.  "I  ain't  talked 
to  a  soul  about  that  country  since  I  left.  I  guess  I  got 
pretty  full,  and  when  you  pulled  the  cork,  out  she  come." 

During  the  tea  hour  Mrs.  Gwynne  tried  to  draw  her 
visitor  out  to  talk  about  his  family,  but  here  she  failed. 
Indeed  a  restraint  appeared  to  fall  upon  him  that  nothing 
could  dispel.  Immediately  after  tea  Mrs.  Gwynne  placed 


58  THE  MAJOR 

the  Bifck  and  B»»k  •£  Prayers  «n  the  table,  saying,  "We 
follow  the  custom  of  reading  prayers  every  evening  after 
tea,  Mr.  Sleighter.  We  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  join 


us. 

"C 


Sure  thing,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Sleighter,  pushing  back 
his  chair  and  beginning  to  rock  on  its  hind  legs,  picking 
his  teeth  with  his  pen  knife,  to  the  staring  horror  of  the 
little  girls. 

The  reading  was  from  the  Scripture  to  which  through- 
out the  centuries  the  Christian  Church  has  gone  for 
authority  and  guidance  in  the  exercise  of  charity  and  in 
the  performance  of  social  service,  the  story  of  the  Sa- 
maritan gentleman  to  whom  the  unhappy  traveller  whose 
misfortune  it  was  to  be  sorely  mishandled  by  thieves 
cwed  his  rescue  and  his  life. 

Throughout  the  reading  Mr.  Sleighter  paid  the  strict- 
est attention  arid  joined  in  the  prayers  with  every  sign 
of  reverence.  At  the  close  he  stood  awkwardly  shifting 
from  one  foot  to  another. 

"Well,  I'll  be  goin',"  he  said.  "Don't  know  how  you 
roped  me  in  for  this  here  visit,  ma'am.  I  ain't  et  in  any 
one's  house  since  I  left  home,  and  I  ain't  heard  any  family 
prayers  since  my  old  dad  had  'em — a  regular  old  Meth- 
odist exhorter  he  was.  He  used  to  pray  until  all  was 
blue,  though  most  times,  specially  at  night,  I  used  to  fall 
asleep.  He  was  great  on  religion." 

"I  don't  suppose  he  was  any  the  worse  for  that,"  said 
Mrs.  Gwynne. 

"Not  a  mite,  not  a  mite,  ma'am.  A  little  strict,  but 
straight  as  a  string,  ma'am.  No  one  could  say  anythin' 
against  Hiram  Sleighter — H.  P.  Sleighter.  I  was  named 
for  him.  He  used  to  pray  to  beat  creation,  and  then 
some,  but  he  was  a  straight  man  all  right.  And  to-night 
your  kids  and  your  family  prayers  made  me  think  of 
them  old  days.  Well,  good-night  and  thank  you  for  the 
good  time  you  gave  me.  Best  I've  had  in  a  dog's  age." 

"You  will  come  again,  Mr.  Sleighter,"  said  Mrs. 
Gwynne,  giving  him  her  hand. 


SALVAGE  59 

"Yes,  and  tell  us  more  about  that  new  country,"  added 
•her  son.  "My,  I'd  like  to  go  out  there!" 

"It's  a  wonderful  country  all  right  and  you  might  do 
a  hull  lot  worse." 


CHAPTER  V 

WESTWARD    HO! 

MR.  GWYNNE  accompanied    Mr.  Sleighter  to  the 
door.    "Will  you  walk  down  to  the  store?"  said 
Mr.  Sleighter. 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Gwynne,  setting  off  with  him. 

Mr.  Sleighter  evidently  had  something  on  his  mind. 
The  usual  fountain  of  his  speech  seemed  to  be  dried 
up.  As  they  drew  near  to  the  store,  he  seized  Mr. 
Gwynne  by  the  arm,  arrested  him,  and  said : 

"Say,  Mr.  Gwynne,  you  ain't  got  any  right  to  be  in 
business.  You  ain't  got  the  parts,  and  that  Machine 
Company  and  the  rest  of  'em  put  it  all  over  you." 

"We  needn't  go  into  that  now,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr. 
Gwynne. 

"No,  I  guess  I  am  buttin'  in — a  thing  I  don't  often 
do — but  I  am  off  my  stride  to-night  anyway,  and  I  am 
doin'  what  I  never  did  in  all  my  life  before.  I  guess 
it  was  them  kids  of  yours  and  your  missis.  I  know  it 
ain't  my  business,  but  what  are  you  goin'  to  do  with 
yourself?" 

"I  don't  know  yet,"  replied  Mr.  Gwynne,  declining  to 
be  confidential. 

"Not  goin'  into  business,  I  hope.  You  ain't  got  the 
parts.  Some  people  ain't  got  'em,  and  you  ain't.  Goin' 
to  farm?" 

"No,  I  think  not.  The  fact  is  I'm  about  selling  my 
farm." 

"Selling  it?" 

"Yes,  I  had  an  offer  to-day  which  I  am  thinking  of 
accepting." 

60 


WESTWARD  HO!  61 

"An  offer,  eh,  from  a  feller  named  Martin,  I  sup- 
pose ?" 

"How  did  you  know?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  just  figgered.  Offered  you  about  a 
hundred  dollars,  eh?" 

"No;  I  wish  he  had.  It's  worth  a  hundred  with  the 
house  and  buildings — they  are  good  buildings." 

"Say,  I  don't  like  to  butt  in  on  any  man's  business, 
but  is  the  price  a  secret?" 

"Oh,  no;  he  offers  four  thousand,  half  cash." 

"And  how  much  for  the  buildings?" 

"Four  thousand  for  everything.  It's  not  enough  but 
there  are  not  many  buyers  in  this  neighbourhood." 

"Say,  there's  nothing  rash  about  that  feller.  When 
do  you  close?" 

"Must  close  to-morrow  night.  He  has  a  chance  of 
another  place." 

"Oh,  he  has,  eh?  Big  rush  on,  eh?  Well,  don't  you 
close  until  I  see  you  some  time  to-morrow,  partner." 

Mr.  Sleighter  scented  another  salvage  deal,  his  keen 
eyes  gleamed  a  bit,  the  firm  lips  were  pressed  a  little 
more  closely  together. 

"And  say,"  he  said,  turning  back,  "I  don't  wonder  you 
can't  do  business.  I  couldn't  do  anything  myself  with 
a  missis  like  yours.  I  couldn't  get  any  smooth  work  over 
*,vith  her  lookin'  at  me  like  that,  durned  if  I  could.  Well, 
good-night ;  see  you  to-morrow." 

Mr.  Sleighter  spent  the  early  hours  of  the  following 
day  among  the  farmers  with  whom  his  salvage  deal  had 
brought  him  into  contact.  The  wrecker's  instinct  was 
strong  in  him,  and  besides  he  regarded  with  abhorrence 
the  tactics  of  Mr.  Martin  and  welcomed  an  opportunity 
to  beat  that  gentleman  at  his  own  game.  He  could  easily 
outbid  the  Martin  offer  and  still  buy  the  farm  at  a  low 
price.  As  a  result  of  his  inquiries  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  that  the  land  was  worth  at  the  very  least  eighty  dol- 
lars an  acre  and  the  buildings  at  least  two  thousand  more. 
Five  thousand  would  be  a  ridiculously  low  figure  and  six 


62  THE  MAJOR 

thousand  not  extravagantly  high  for  both  buildings  and 
farm.  The  farm  with  the  store  and  machine  business 
attached  might  offer  a  fair  opening  to  his  son,  who  was 
already  weary  of  school  and  anxious  to  engage  in  busi- 
ness for  himself. 

"Guess  I'll  take  a  whirl  out  of  the  old  boy,"  he  said 
to  himself.  "He's  a  durn  fool  anyway  and  if  I  don't  get 
his  money  some  one  else  will." 

In  the  afternoon  he  made  his  way  to  the  store.  "Boss 
ain't  in?"  he  inquired  of  the  clerk. 

"No,  he's  at  the  house,  I  guess." 

"Back  soon?" 

"Don't  know.     Guess  he's  busy  over  there." 

"Seeri  Mr.  Martin  around?" 

"Yes,  he  was  here  a  while  ago.  Said  he  would  be 
in  again  later." 

Mr.  Sleighter  greatly  disliked  the  idea  of  doing  busi- 
ness with  Mr.  Gwynne  at  his  own  house.  "Can't  do  no 
business  with  his  missis  and  kids  around,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "Can't  get  no  action  with  >that  woman  lookin' 
on  seemingly.  But  that  there  old  Martin  geyser  is  on 
the  job  and  he  might  close  things  up.  I  guess  I  will 
wander  over." 

To  his  great  relief  he  found  Mr.  Gwynne  alone  and 
without  preliminaries,  and  with  the  design  of  getting 
"quick  action"  before  the  disturbing  element  of  Mrs. 
Gwynne's  presence  should  be  introduced,  he  made  his 
offer.  He  explained  his  purpose  in  purchasing,  and  with 
something  of  a  flourish  offered  five  thousand  for  "the 
hull  plant,  lock,  stock  and  barrel,"  cash  down  if  spe- 
cially desired,  but  he  would  prefer  to  pay  half  in  six 
months.  He  must  have  his  answer  immediately;  was 
not  anxious  to  buy,  but  if  Mr.  Gwynne  wanted  to  close 
up,  he  only  had  to  say  so.  He  was  not  going  to  monkey 
with  the  thing. 

"You  have  made  me  a  much  better  offer  than  the  one 
I  received  from  Mr.  Martin,  and  I  am  inclined  to  accept 
it,  but  inasmuch  as  I  have  promised  to  give  him  an  an- 


WESTWARD  HO!  63 

swer  to-day,  I  feel  that  it's  due  to  him  that  I  should  meet 
him  with  the  bargain  still  unclosed." 

"Why?"  enquired  Mr.  Sleighter  in  surprise. 

"Well,  you  see  I  asked  him  to  hold  the  offer  open 
until  this  afternoon.  I  feel  I  ought  to  go  to  him  with 
the  matter  still  open." 

"Want  to  screw  him  up,  eh?"  said  Mr.  SleighteY,  his 
lips  .drawing  close  together. 

"No,  sir."  Mr.  Gwynne's  voice  had  a  little  ring  in  it. 
"I  consider  it  fairer  to  Mr.  Martin." 

"Don't  see  as  how  he  has  much  claim  on  you,"  replied 
Mr.  Sleighter.  "But  that's  your  own  business.  Say, 
there  he  comes  now.  Look  here,  my  offer  is  open  until 
six  o'clock.  After  that  it's  a  new  deal.  Take  it  or  leave 
it.  I  will  be  at  your  store." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Gwynne  stiffly. 

Mr.  Sleighter  was  distinctly  annoyed  and  disappointed. 
A  few  minutes'  longer  pressure,  he  was  convinced,  would 
have  practically  closed  a  deal  which  would  have  netted 
him  a  considerable  profit.  "Durn  old  fool,"  he  muttered 
to  himself  as  he  passed  out  of  the  room. 

In  the  hallway  Mrs.  Gwynne's  kindly  welcome  halted 
him.  She  greeted  him  as  she  would  a  friend.  Would 
he  not  sit  down  for  a  few  moments.  No,  he  was  busy. 
Mr.  Sleighter  was  quite  determined  to  get  away  from 
her  presence. 

"The  children  were  delighted  with  your  description 
of  your  western  home,"  she  said.  "The  free  life,  the 
beautiful  hills,  the  mountains  in  the  distance — it  must 
indeed  be  a  lovely  country." 

Mr.  Sleighter  was  taken  off  his  guard.  "Yes,  ma'am, 
that's  lovely  country  all  right.  They'd  like  it  fine  out 
there,  and  healthy  too.  It  would  make  a  man  of  that 
little  kid  of  yours.  He  looks  a  little  on  the  weak  side 
to  me.  A  few  months  in  the  open  and  you  wouldn't 
know  him.  The  girls  too " 

"Come  in  here  and  sit  down,  won't  you,  Mr. 
Sleighter?"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne. 


64  THE  MAJOR 

Mr.  Sleighter  reluctantly  passed  into  the  room  and  sat 
down.  He  knew  he  was  taking  a  risk.  However,  his 
offer  was  already  made  and  the  deal  he  believed  would 
be  closed  in  the  store  by  six  o'clock. 

"I  suppose  the  land  is  all  taken  up  out  there?"  said 
Mrs.  Gwynne. 

"Oh,  yes,  mostly,  unless  away  back.  Folks  are  comin' 
in  all  the  time,  but  there's  still  lots  of  cheap  land  around." 

"Cheap  land,  is  there?"  inquired  Mrs.  Gwynne  with  a 
certain  eagerness  in  her  voice.  "Indeed  I  should  have 
thought  that  that  beautiful  land  would  be  very  dear." 

"Why,  bless  your  heart,  no.  I  know  good  land  going 
for  six — seven — eight — ten  dollars  an  acre.  Ten  dollars 
is  high  for  good  farm  lands ;  for  cattle  runs  four  dollars 
is  good.  No,  there's  lots  of  good  land  lying  around  out 
of  doors  there.  If  these  people  around  here  could  get 
their  heads  up  long  enough  from  grubbing  in  the  muck 
they  wouldn't  stay  here  over  night.  They'd  be  hittin* 
the  trail  for  the  West,  you  bet." 

Mrs.  Gwynne  turned  her  honest  eyes  upon  him.  "Mr. 
Sleighter,  I  want  to  ask  your  advice.  I  feel  I  can  rely 
upon  you  ["Durn  it  all,  she's  gettin'  her  work  in  all 
right,"  thought  Mr.  Sleighter  to  himself],  and  I  am  get- 
ting quite  anxious  in  the  matter.  You  see,  my  husband 
is  determined  to  leave  this  place.  He  wishes  to  try  some- 
thing else.  Indeed,  he  must  try  something  else.  We 
must  make  a  living,  Mr.  Sleighter."  Mrs.  Gwynne's  voice 
became  hurried  and  anxious.  "We  were  delighted  last 
night  by  your  description  of  that  wonderful  country  in 
the  West,  and  the  children  especially.  I  have  been  won- 
dering if  we  might  venture  to  try  a  small  farm  in  that 
country — quite  a  small  farm.  We  have  a  little  money  to 
invest.  I  thought  I  might  be  bold  enough  to  ask  you. 
I  know  your  judgment  would  be  good  and  I  felt  some- 
how that  we  could  trust  you.  I  hope  I  am  not  taking 
a  liberty,  but  somehow  I  feel  that  you  are  not  a 
stranger." 

"No,  ma'am,  certainly  not,"  said  Mr.  Sleighter  in  a 


WESTWARD  HO!  65 

loud  voice,  his  hope  of  securing  "quick  action  on  that 
deal"  growing  dim. 

"Do  you  happen  to  know  any  farm — a  small  farm — 
which  we  might  be  able  to  buy?  We  hope  to  receive 
four  thousand  dollars  for  this  place.  I  feel  that  it  is 
worth  a  good  deal  more,  but  there  are  not  many  buyers 
about  here.  Then,  of  course,  perhaps  we  value  our  place 
too  highly.  Then  by  your  kind  help  we  have  got  some- 
thing out  of  the  business — twelve  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 
lars I  think  Mr.  Gwynne  said.  We  are  most  grateful  to 
you  for  that,  Mr.  Sleighter."  Her  eyes  beamed  on  him 
in  a  most  disconcerting  way.  "And  so  after  our  obliga- 
tions here  are  met  we  might  have  about  forty-five  hun- 
dred dollars  clear.  Could  we  do  anything  with  that?" 

"I  donno,  I  donno,"  said  Mr.  Sleighter  quickly  and 
rising  from  his  chair,  "I  will  think  it  over.  I  have  got 
to  go  now." 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Gwynne  came  into  the  room. 
"Oh,  I  am  glad  you  are  not  gone,  Mr.  Sleighter.  I  have 
just  told  Mr.  Martin  that  I  cannot  accept  his  offer." 

"Cannot  accept,  Michael!"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne,  dismay 
in  her  voice  and  in  her  eyes. 

"I  believe  you  said  your  offer  was  good  until  six,  Mr. 
Sleighter?" 

"Oh,  I  say,  Gwynne,  let's  get  out,  let's  get  over  to 
the  store.  It's  kind  of  hot  here,  and  I've  got  to  go. 
Come  on  over  and  we'll  clean  up."  Without  a  farewell 
word  to  either  of  them  Mr.  Sleighter  passed  rapidly  from 
the  room. 

"I  do  hope  there's  nothing  wrong,  Michael,"  said  his 
wife.  "I  fear  I  have  made  a  mistake.  I  spoke  to  Mr. 
Sleighter  about  the  possibility  of  getting  a  small  farm  in 
the  West.  You  were  so  eager  about  it,  Michael  dear, 
and  I  spoke  to  Mr.  Sleighter  about  it.  I  hope  there  is 
nothing  wrong." 

"Don't  worry,  mother.  I  have  his  offer  for  five  thou- 
sand dollars.  Of  course  he  is  rather  peculiar,  I  con- 


66  THE  MAJOR 

fess,  but  I  believe "  The  door  opened  abruptly  upo« 

them,  admitting  Mr.  Sleighter. 

"See  here,  Mr.  Gwynne,  I  can't  do  no  business  with 
you." 

"Sir,  you  made  me  an  offer  for  my  farm,"  said  Mr. 
Gwynne  indignantly,  "and  I  have  just  refused  an  offer 
from  Mr.  Martin  on  account  of  yours." 

"Oh,  we'll  cut  that  all  out,"  said  Mr.  Sleighter,  whose 
voice  and  manner  indicated  strong  excitement.  "Now 
don't  talk.  Listen  to  me,  my  son.  You  ain't  got  any 
right  to  be  playing  around  with  business  men  anyhow. 
Now  I  am  going  to  do  a  little  business  for  you,  if  you  will 
allow  me,  ma'am.  I  take  it  you  want  to  get  away  from 
here."  Mr.  Gwynne  nodded,  gazing  at  him  in  astonish- 
ment. "You  want  to  go  West."  Again  Mr.  Gwynne 
nodded.  "Well,  there's  only  one  spot  in  the  West — 
Alberta.  You  want  a  farm." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Gwynne. 

"Yes,  certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne. 

"There's  just  one  farm  that  will  suit  you,  an'  that's 
Lakeside  Farm,  Wolf  Willow,  Alberta,  owned  by  H.  P. 
Sleighter,  Esq.,  who's  going  to  stump  you  to  a  trade. 
Five  hundred  acres,  one  hundred  broke  an'  a  timber 
lot;  a  granary;  stables  and  corral,  no  good;  house,  fair 
to  middlin'.  Two  hundred  an'  fifty  acres  worth  ten 
dollars  at  least,  best  out  of  doors;  cattle  run,  two 
hundred  acres  worth  five;  swamp  and  sleugh,  fifty 
acres,  only  good  to  look  at  but  mighty  pretty  in 
the  mornin'  at  sun-up.  Not  much  money  in  scenery 
though.  Building  worth  between  two  and  three 
thousand.  Your  plant  here  is,  worth  about  six  thousand. 
I  know  I  offered  you  five  thousand,  but  I  was  buyin' 
then  and  now  I  am  buyin'  and  sellin'.  Anyway,  I  guess 
it's  about  even,  an*  we'll  save  you  a  lot  of  trouble  an' 
time  an'  money.  An'  so,  if  you  really  want  a  western 
farm,  you  might  just  as  well  have  mine.  I  did  not  think 
to  sell.  Of  course  I  knew  I  must  sell  in  the  long  run, 
but  couldn't  just  see  my  place  in  anybody  else's  hands 


WESTWARD  HO!  67 

Somehow  it  seems  different  though  to  see  you  folks  on 
it.  You  seem  to  fit.  Anyway,  there's  the  offer.  What 
do  you  say?" 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  Sleighter,"  said  Mr.  Gwynne.  "This 
is  a  rather  surprising  proposition." 

Mrs.  Gwynne's  eyes  grew  soft.  "Michael,  I  think  it 
is  wonderful." 

But  Mr.  Gwynne  would  not  look  at  his  wife.  "Let 
me  see,  Mr.  Sleighter,  your  farm,  you  say,  with  build- 
ings, is  worth  about  six  thousand  to  sixty-five  hundred. 
Mine  is  worth  from  fifty-five  hundred  to  six  thousand. 
I  will  take  your  offer  and  pay  the  difference." 

"Oh,  come  off  your  perch,"  said  Mr.  Sleighter. 
"You're  doin'  the  highfalutin'  Vere  de  Vere  act  now. 
Listen  to  me.  The  deal  is  as  level  as  I  can  figger  it. 
Your  farm  and  store  with  the  machine  business  suit  me 
all  right.  I  feel  I  can  place  my  boy  right  here  for  a 
while  anyway.  My  farm,  I  believe,  would  suit  you  bet- 
ter than  anythin'  else  you  can  get.  There's  my  offer. 
Take  it  or  leave  it." 

"I  think  we  will  take  it,  Mr.  Sleighter,"  said  Mrs. 
Gwynne.  "Michael  dear,  I  feel  Mr.  Sleighter  is  right, 
and  besides  I  know  he  is  doing  us  a  great  kindness." 

"Kindness,  ma'am,  not  at  all.  Business  is  business, 
and  that's  all  there  is  to  it.  Well,  I'll  be  goin'.  Think 
it  over,  get  the  papers  fixed  up  by  to-morrow.  No,  don't 
thank  me.  Good-bye." 

Mrs.  Gwynne  followed  him  to  the  door,  her  face 
flushed,  her  eyes  aglow,  a  smile  hovering  uncertainly 
about  her  lips.  "Mr.  Sleighter,"  she  said,  "the  Lord 
sent  you  to  us  because  He  knew  we  were  in  need  of 
guiding." 

"Ho,  ho !"  laughed  Mr.  Sleighter.  "Like  that  Samari- 
tan chap  in  the  reading,  eh  ?  I  guess  you  had  got  among 
thieves  all  right,  more  of  'em  perhaps  than  you  recog- 
nised too." 

"He  sent  you  to  us,"  repeated  Mrs.  Gwynne,  offering 
him  her  hand. 


68  THE  MAJOR 

"Well,  I  donno  but  that  He  steered  me  to  you.  But 
all  the  same  I  guess  the  advantage  is  to  me  all  right." 
Mr.  Sleighter  looked  hard  down  the  street,  then  turned 
and  faced  her  squarely.  "I  want  to  say  that  it's  done 
me  a  pile  of  good  to  have  seen  you,  ma'am.  It's  made 
things  look  different." 

"You  are  a  good  man,  Mr.  Sleighter,"  she  said,  looking 
at  him  with  misty  eyes. 

"A  good  man!"  Mr.  Sleighter  was  seized  with  a 
cough.  "A  good  man!  Good  Lord,  ma'am!  nobody 
never  found  it  out  but  you — durn  that  cough  anyway." 
And  still  troubled  by  his  cough,  Mr.  Sleighter  hurried 
down  the  path  to  the  gate  and  out  on  to  the  road. 

Once  resolved  to  break  up  their  home  in  Eastern 
Canada,  the  Gwynnes  lost  no  time  in  completing  their 
arrangements  for  the  transportation  of  themselves  and 
their  household  gods  and  such  of  their  household 
goods  as  Mr.  Sleighter  advised,  to  the  new  western 
country. 

Mr.  Sleighter  appeared  to  regard  the  migration  of  the 
Gwynne  family  to  the  western  country  as  an  enterprise 
in  which  he  had  made  an  investment  from  which  he  was 
bound  to  secure  the  greatest  possible  return.  The  prin- 
ciple of  exchange  which  had  been  the  basis  of  the  deal  as 
far  as  the  farms  were  concerned  was  made  to  apply  as 
far  as  possible  to  farm  implements  and  equipment,  house- 
hold goods  and  chattels. 

"What's  the  use  of  your  packin'  a  hull  bunch  of  stuff 
West  an'  my  packin'  a  hull  bunch  of  stuff  East.  We'll 
just  tote  up  the  stock  an'  stuff  we  have  got  and  make 
a  deal  on  it.  I  know  all  my  stuff  an'  yours  is  here. 
We'll  make  a  trade." 

To  this  Mr.  Gwynne  gladly  agreed.  The  arrangement 
would  save  trouble  and  useless  expenditure.  Hence  the 
car  was  packed  with  such  goods  as  Mr.  Sleighter  con- 
sidered especially  useful  in  the  new  home,  and  with  such 
household  furniture  as  the  new  home  lacked  and  such 


WESTWARD  HO!  69 

articles  as  were  precious  from  family  or  personal  asso- 
ciations. 

"What  about  the  pictures  and  curtains  ?"  inquired  Mr. 
Gwynne.  "We  don't  need  them." 

"Take  'em  all,"  said  Mr.  Sleighter.  "Pictures  are  like 
folks.  They  got  faces  an'  looks.  And  curtains — my 
missis  got  hers  all  packed.  Curtains  are  like  clothes — 
they  only  fit  them  that  owns  them." 

"And  the  piano?" 

"Sure  thing.  Say,  a  piano  in  that  country  is  like  the 
village  pump — the  hull  country  gets  about  it.  Take 
things  to  eat  an'  things  to  wear  an'  things  to  make  the 
shack  look  pretty  an'  interestin'  and  comfortable.  They 
don't  take  much  room  and  they  take  the  bareness  off. 
That's  what  kills  the  women  folk  in  the  West,  the  bare- 
ness inside  and  outside.  Nothin'  but  chairs,  table  an' 
stove  inside;  nothin'  but  grass  an'  sand  outside.  That's 
what  makes  'em  go  crazy." 

So  the  car  was  filled  with  things  to  eat  and  to  wear, 
and  things  "to  take  the  bareness  off."  Somewhere  in  the 
car  was  found  a  place  for  Rosie,  the  cow,  a  remarkable 
milker  and  "worth  her  weight  in  butter,"  as  Mr.  Sleighter 
said,  and  for  Rover,  Larry's  collie  dog,  who  stood  to 
him  as  comrade  almost  as  a  brother.  A  place  in  the  car 
too  was  found  for  Joe  Gagneau  who  from  the  first  mo- 
ment of  the  announced  departure  had  expressed  his  de- 
termination to  accompany  Larry  no  matter  at  what  cost 
or  against  whose  opposition. 

"A'm  goin'  be  in  dat  car  me,  by  gar!"  was  his  ulti- 
matum, and  the  various  authorities  interested  recognised 
the  inevitable  and  accepted  it,  to  the  great  delight  of 
both  boys.  Joe  had  a  mouth  organ  and  so  had  Larry, 
and  they  were  both  in  the  same  key.  Joe  too  had  an 
old  fiddle  of  his  father's  on  which  he  could  scrape  with 
joy  to  himself,  and  with  more  or  less  agony  to  others, 
the  dance  tunes  of  local  celebrity,  the  "Red  River  Jig," 
picked  up  from  his  father,  "Money  Musk"  and  "The 


70 

Deil  Amang  the  Tailors,"  the  two  latter  from  Dan  Mon- 
roe at  the  country  dances. 

In  due  time  the  car,  packed  with  the  Gwynne  house- 
hold goods  and  treasures  and  in  charge  of  the  two  super- 
latively happy  boys,  with  Rosie  and  Rover  to  aid  in  pro- 
viding them  with  sustenance  and  protection,  set  forth, 
Westward  Ho!  Mr.  Gwynne  rode  in  the  caboose  of  the 
train  to  which  his  car  was  attached.  Mrs.  Gwynne  and 
the  girls  were  to  follow  by  passenger  train  and  would 
doubtless  be  found  awaiting  them  on  their  arrival  at 
Winnipeg. 

The  journey  westward  was  to  the  boys  full  of  in- 
terest and  adventure.  At  Toronto  they  picked  up  a 
stowaway,  who,  taking  advantage  of  their  absence,  board- 
ed the  car  and  made  himself  a  bed  behind  some  bales 
of  hay.  Upon  discovery  by  Rover,  he  made  so  piteous 
an  appeal  for  refuge  from  some  pursuing  terror  which 
he  declined  to  specify,  that  the  boys  agreed  to  conceal 
him  a  night  and  a  day  till  they  were  well  on  their  way 
along  the  north  shore  of  Lake  Superior.  When  Larry's 
conscience  made  further  concealment  a  burden  greater 
than,  could  be  borne,  Mr.  Gwynne  was  taken  into  the 
boys'  confidence  and,  after  protest,  agreed  to  make  ar- 
rangement with  the  railroad  authorities  whereby  Sam — 
for  that  was  the  stowaway's  name — might  retain  his 
place  in  the  car. 

He  was  a  poor,  wretched  creature,  reminding  Larry 
of  the  scarecrow  which  he  had  put  up  in  their  garden 
the  summer  before.  He  was  thin  beyond  anything  the 
boys  had  ever  seen.  His  face  was  worn  and  old  and 
came  to  a  peak  at  the  nose,  which  gave  him  the  appear- 
ance of  a  monster  rat,  a  resemblance  emphasised  by  the 
little  blinking,  red-rimmed  eyes.  His  hair  was  closely 
cropped  and  of  brilliant  carrotty  colour. 

But  he  had  seen  life  in  a  great  city  and  had  gathered 
a  store  of  worldly  wisdom,  not  all  of  which  was  for  his 
good,  and  a  repertoire  of  accomplishments  that  won  him 
admiration  and  wonder  from  the  simple  country  boys. 


WESTWARD  HO!  71 

He  had  all  the  new  ragtime  songs  and  dances,  which  he 
rendered  to  his  own  accompaniment  on  an  old  battered 
banjo.  He  was  a  contortionist  of  quite  unusual  clever- 
ness, while  his  fund  of  stories  never  ran  dry  throughout 
the  seven  days'  journey  to  Winnipeg.  He  set  himself 
with  the  greatest  assiduity  to  impart  his  accomplishments 
to  the  boys,  and  by  the  time  the  party  had  reached  the 
end  of  the  first  stage  in  their  westward  journey,  Sam 
had  the  satisfaction  of  observing  that  his  pupils  had 
made  very  satisfactory  progress,  both  with  the  clog  danc- 
ing and  with  the  ragtime  songs.  Besides  this,  he  had 
made  for  himself  an  assured  place  in  their  affection,  and 
even  Mr.  Gwynne  had  come  to  feel  such  an  interest  in 
the  bit  of  human  driftwood  flung  up  against  him,  that 
he  decided  to  offer  the  waif  a  chance  to  try  his  fortune; 
in  the  West. 


CHAPTER  VI 

JANE  BROWN 

MR.  BRQWN  was  a  busy  man,  but  he  never  failed 
to  be  in  his  place  at  the  foot  of  the  table  every  day 
punctually  at  half  past  twelve,  solely  because  at  that 
hour  his  little  daughter,  Jane,  would  show  her  grave  and 
earnest  and  dark  brown,  almost  swarthy,  face  at  the 
head.  Eight  /ears  ago  another  face  used  to  appear  there, 
also  grave,  earnest,  but  very  fair  and  very  lovely  to 
look  upon,  to  the  doctor  the  fairest  of  all  faces  on  the 
earth.  The  little,  plain,  swarthy-faced  child  the  next 
day  after  that  lovely  face  had  been  forever  shut  away 
from  the  doctor's  eyes  was  placed  in  her  high  chair  at 
the  head  of  the  table,  at  first  only  at  the  lunch  hour,  but 
later  at  all  meal  times  before  the  doctor  to  look  at.  And 
it  was  an  ever-recurring  joy  to  the  lonely  man  to  dis- 
cover in  the  little  grave  face  before  him  fleeting  glimpses 
of  the  other  face  so  tenderly  loved  and  so  long  vanished. 
These  glimpses  were  to  be  discovered  now  in  the  deep 
blue  eyes,  deep  in  colour  and  in  setting,  now  in  the  smile 
that  lit  up  the  dark,  irregular  features  like  the  sudden 
break  of  sunlight  upon  the  rough  landscape,  transform- 
ing it  into  loveliness,  now  in  the  knitting  of  the  heavy 
eyebrows,  and  in  the  firm  pressing  of  the  lips  in  moments 
of  puzzled  thought.  In  all  the  moods  and  tenses  of  the 
little  maid  the  doctor  looked  for  and  found  reminiscences 
of  her  mother. 

Through  those  eight  lonely  years  the  little  girl  had 
divided  with  his  profession  the  doctor's  days.  Every 
morning  after  breakfast  he  stood  to  watch  the  trim, 
sturdy,  round  little  figure  dance  down  the  steps,  step 

72 


JANE  BROWN  73 

primly  down  the  walk,  turn  at  the  gate  to  throw  a  kiss, 
and  then  march  away  along  the  street  to  the  corner  where 
another  kiss  would  greet  him  before  the  final  vanishing. 
Every  day  they  met  at  noon  to  exchange  on  equal  terms 
the  experiences  of  the  morning.  Every  night  they  closed 
the  day  with  dinner  and  family  prayers,  the  little  girl 
gravely  taking  her  part  in  the  reading  during  the  last 
year  from  her  mother's  Bible.  And  so  it  came  that  with 
the  years  their  friendship  grew  in  depth,  in  frankness 
and  in  tenderness.  The  doctor  was  widely  read  beyond 
the  literature  of  his  profession,  and  every  day  for  a  half 
hour  it  was  his  custom  to  share  with  the  little  girl  the 
treasures  of  his  library.  The  little  maid  repaid  him 
with  a  passonate  love  and  a  quaint  mothering  care  ten- 
der and  infinitely  comforting  to  the  lonely  man. 

The  forenoon  had  been  hot  and  trying,  and  Dr.  Brown, 
having  been  detained  in  his  office  beyond  his  regular 
hour,  had  been  more  than  usually  hurried  in  his  round 
of  morning  calls,  and  hence  was  more  than  ordinarily 
tired  with  his  morning's  work.  At  his  door  the  little 
girl  met  him. 

"Come  in,  Papa,  I  know  you're  hot,"  she  said,  love 
and  reproach  in  her  face,  "because  I  was  hot  myself, 
and  you  will  need  a  nice,  cool  drink.  I  had  one  and 
yours  is  in  here."  She  led  him  into  the  study,  hovering 
about  him  with  little  touches  and  pushes.  "You  ought 
not  to  have  taken  so  long  a  round  this  morning,"  she 
said  with  gentle  severity.  "I  know  you  went  out  to  St. 
James  to  see  Mrs.  Kale,  and  you  know  quite  well  she 
doesn't  need  you.  It  would  do  in  the  afternoon.  And  it 
was  awful  hot  in  school." 

"Awful?"  said  the  doctor. 

"Well,  very  exceedingly  then — and  the  kids  were  very 
tired  and  Miss  Mutton  was  as  cross  as  anything." 

"It  was  no  wonder.  How  many  kids  were  there  for 
her  to  watch?" 

"Oh,  Papa,  you  said  'kids!" 

"I  was  just  quoting  my  young  daughter." 


74  THE  MAJOR 

"And  she  said  we  were  to  get  out  this  afternoon  an 
hour  earlier,"  continued  Jane,  ignoring  his  criticism, 
"and  so  I  am  going  to  take  my  bicycle  and  go  with  Nora 
and  the  girls  down  to  the  freight  sheds." 

"The  freight  sheds?" 

"Yes,  Larry  and  Joe  have  come  in,  and  Rover  and 
Rosie — she's  the  cow,  and  they  milked  her  every  day 
twice  and  drank  the  milk  and  they  used  to  have  their 
meals  together  in  the  car." 

"Rosie,  too?    Very  interesting  indeed." 

"Now,  Papa,  you  must  not  laugh  at  me.  It  is  very 
interesting.  They  all  came  for  days  and  days  together 
in  the  car  from  somewhere  down  East,  Ontario*  I  think. 
And  Mr.  Gwynne  says  they  are  just  like  a  circus.  And 
they  play  instiments  and  dance." 

"What,  Rosie  too?    How  clever  of  her!" 

The  child's  laugh  rang  out  joyously.  "Oh,  Papa,  that's 
awfully  funny.  And  we're  going  down  on  our  wheels. 
Nora  can  ride  now,  you  know,  and  she's  going  to  take 
Ethel  May's  wheel.  It's  awfully  hard  to  ride,  but  Nora's 
as  strong  as  Kathleen." 

"Well,  well,"  said  her  father,  greatly  interested  in  this 
exciting  but  somewhat  confused  tale.  "Just  wait  until 
I  wash  my  hands  and  then  you  shall  tell  me  what  it  all 
means.  Thank  you  for  this  deliciously  cool  lemonade. 
It  is  very  refreshing.  You  will  tell  me  all  about  it  at 
lunch." 

The  lunch  hour  was  devoted  first  of  all  to  disentan- 
gling from  the  mass  the  individual  members  of  the  car 
party,  which  after  an  adventurous  journey  across  half  a 
continent  had  apparently  made  camp  at  the  Winnipeg 
freight  sheds.  Then  followed  the  elucidation  of  the  de- 
tails of  the  plan  by  which  this  camp  was  to  be  attacked 
and  raided  during  the  afternoon. 

"Now  that  I  have  a  fairly  clear  conception  of  whom 
Larry,  Joe,  Sam,  Rosie  and  Rover  are — I  think  I  have 
them  right " 

"Exactly,  Papa." 


JANE  BROWN  75 

"I  wish  to  find  out  just  who  are  to  form  the  advance 
party,  the  scouting  party." 

"The  scouting  party?  I  don't  know  what  you  mean. 
But  Nora — you  know  Nora?" 

"Certainly,  the  little  black-eyed  Irish  Terrier — terror, 
I  mean." 

"Oh,  Papa,  she's  just  lovely  and  she's  my  friend." 

"Is  she,  dear,  then  I  apologise,  but  indeed  I  meant 
nothing  derogatory  to  her.  I  greatly  like  her,  she  is  so 
spunky." 

"Yes,  there's  Nora,  and  Kathleen,  Nora's  sister." 

"Oh,  Kathleen,  the  tall  beautiful  girl  with  the  won- 
derful hair?" 

The  little  girl  sighed.  "Oh,  such  lovely  long  yellow 
hair."  The  little  maid's  hair  was  none  of  these.  "And 
she  is  not  a  bit  proud — just  nice,  you  know — just  as  if 
she  were  not  so  lovely,  but  like — only  like  me." 

"Like  you,  indeed !"  exclaimed  the  doctor  indignantly. 
"Like  my  little  girl?  I  don't  see  any  one  quite  like 
my  little  girl.  There  is  not  one  of  them  with  all  their 
yellow  hair  and  things  that  is  to  be  compared  with  my 
own  little  girl." 

•'Oh,  Papa,  I  know  you  think  so,  and  I  wish  it  was  so. 
And  I  am  awfully  glad  you  think  so,  but  of  course  you 
are  prejuist,  you  know." 

"Prejudiced  ?    Not  a  bit,  not  a  bit." 

"Well,  that's  Kathleen  and  Nora,  and — and  perhaps 
Hazel — you  know  Hazel,  Papa,  Hazel  Sleighter?" 

"The  western  girl — not  at  all  wild  and  woolly  though. 
A  very  modern  and  very  advanced  young  lady,  isn't 
she?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Papa.  She  says 
she  may  go  down,  but  I  don't  think  she  likes  going  with 
a  lot  of  kids.  You  know  she  has  her  hair  up.  She  has 
to  have  it  up  in  the  store.  She  says  the  man  would  not 
have  her  behind  the  counter  if  she  had  not  her  hair  up." 

"Oh,  that's  it.  I  thought  perhaps  the  maturity  of  her 
age  made  it  necessary." 


76  THE  MAJOR 

"I  don't  know  what  maturevy  means,  but  she  is  awfully 
old.  She  is  going  on  sixteen." 

"Dear  me,  as  old  as  that?"  inquired  her  father. 

"Yes,  but  she  said  she  wanted  to  see  that  circus  car. 
That's  what  she  calls  Mr.  Gwynne's  car.  And  she  says 
she  wants  to  see  the  elephunts  perform.  There  are  not 
any  elephunts.  There's  only  Rosie  and  Rover.  But  she 
may  get  off.  She  can  get  off  if  she  can  fool  her  boss,  she 
says.  So  we're  all  going  down  and  we  may  bring  Larry 
home  with  us,  Mrs.  Sleighter  says.  Though  Mrs. 
Gwynne  says  there's  not  any  room,  they're  so  filled  up 
now.  And  I  said  Larry  could  come  here  and  Joe,  too. 
But  I  am  not  so  sure  about  Sam.  I  think  he  must  be 
awfully  queer.  Mr.  Gwynne  thinks  he's  queer." 

"It  is  quite  possible,  indeed  probable,  my  dear,"  as- 
sented her  father. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Gwynne  said  he  looked  like  a  third-rate 
how-do-you-feel  performer." 

"A  what,  exactly?" 

"A  how-do-you-feel  performer." 

"Oh,  a  vaudeville  performer." 

"Yes,  a  fodefeel  performer.  I  don't  know  what  that 
means,  but  he  must  be  queer.  But  I  think  Larry  would 
be  all  right,  and  Joe.  You  see,  we  know  them." 

"Oh,  do  we?" 

"Yes,  certainly,  Papa.  Larry  is  Nora's  brother.  He's 
awfully  clever.  He's  only  fifteen  and  he  passed  the  En- 
trance in  Ontario  and  that's  ever  so  much  harder  than 
here.  He  passed  it  before  he  was  fourteen." 

"Before  he  was  fourteen!"  replied  her  father. 
"Amazing!" 

"Yes,  and  he  plays  the  mouth  organ  and  the  tin  whistle 
and  the  fiddle,  and  Mr.  Gwynne  says  he  has  learned 
some  stunts  from  Sam.  I  think  he  must  be  awfully  nice. 
So  I  said  he  could  come  here.  And  Mrs.  Gwynne 
thanked  me  so  nicely,  and  she's  just  lovely,  Papa." 

"I  have  not  seen  her,"  said  her  father,  "but  I  have 
heard  her  voice,  and  I  quite  agree  with  you.  The  voice 


JANE  BROWN  77 

always  tells.     Have  you  noticed  that?    The  voice  gives 
the  keynote  of  the  soul." 

"I  don't  know,  Papa.  There's  Mrs.  Sleighter's  voice. 
I  don't  like  it  very  much,  but  I  think  she's  nice  inside." 

"Ah,  you  are  right,  my  dear.  Perhaps  I  should  have 
said  that  a  certain  kind  of  voice  always  goes  with  a 
beautiful  soul." 

"I  know,"  replied  his  daughter.  "That's  like  Mrs. 
Gwynne's  voice.  And  so  we'll  go  down  to  the  car  and 
bring  Larry  home  with  us,  and  perhaps  his  mother  will 
let  him  come  here.  She  did  not  say  she  would  and  you 
can't  tell.  She's  quiet,  you  know,  but  somehow  she 
isn't  like  Mrs.  Sleighter.  I  don't  think  you  could  coax 
her  to  do  what  she  didn't  want." 

"And  Mrs.  Sleighter — can  you  coax  Mrs.  Sleighter?" 

"Oh,  yes,  the  girls  just  coax  her  and  coax  her,  and 
though  she  doesn't  want  to  a  bit,  she  just  gives  in." 

"That's  nice  of  her.     That  must  be  very  nice  for  the 
;  girls,  eh?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Papa." 

"What?  don't  you  think  it  is  nice  to  be  able  to  coax 
I  people  to  do  what  you  want  ?" 

"It  is  nice  to  get  what  you  want,  but  I  think  really, 
really,  you'd  rather  you  could  not  coax  them  to  do  it 
'  just  because  you  coax  them." 

"Ah,  I  see." 

"Yes ;  you  see,  you're  never  really  quite  sure  after  you 
get  it  whether  you  ought  to  get  it  after  all." 

"I  see,"  said  her  father;  "that  rather  spoils  it." 

"Yes,  but  you  never  do  that,  Papa." 

"Oh,  you  can't  coax  me,  eh?  I  am  glad  to  know 
that.  I  was  afraid,  rather." 

"Well,  of  course,  I  can  coax  you,  Papa,  but  you  usually 
find  some  other  way,  and  then  I  know  it  is  quite  right." 

"I  wish  I  was  quite  as  sure  of  that,  Jane.  But  you 
are  going  to  bring  Larry  home  with  you?" 

"Yes,  if  Mrs.  Gwynne  will  let  him  come.  I  told  her 
we  had  four  rooms  and  we  were  only  using  two,  and 


78  THE  MAJOR 

they  are  all  crowded  up  in  Mrs.  Sleighter's,  two  girls 
in  each  room,  and  Tom's  room  is  so  tiny,  and  I  don't 
think  Larry  would  like  to  go  in  Tom's  room.  And  we 
have  two  empty  rooms,  so  we  might  just  as  well." 

"Yes,  certainly,  we  might  just  as  well.  You  might 
perhaps  mention  it  to  Anna." 

"Oh,  I  did,  Papa,  and  she  said  she  would  have  it  all 
ready." 

"So  it  is  all  arranged.  I  was  thinking — but  never 
mind." 

"I  know  you  were  thinking,  that  I  ought  to  have 
asked  you,  Papa;  and  I  ought  to  have.  But  I  knew 
that  when  a  little  boy  had  no  home  to  go  to  you  would 
of  course " 

"Of  course,"  replied  her  father  hurriedly.  "You  were 
quite  right,  Jane.  And  with  those  two  rooms,  why  not 
bring  them  all,  Joe  and  Pete — Pete,  is  it?" 

"Sam,  Papa.  I  am  not  so  sure.  I  think  we  should 
leave  Joe  and  Sam.  You  see  Joe  won't  mind  staying 
in  the  car.  Nora  says  he  lives  in  just  a  shack  at  home, 
and  Sam — I  am  a  little  afraid  of  Sam.  We  don't  know 
him  very  well,  you  see." 

"I  see.  We  are  quite  safe  in  your  hands,  little  woman. 
Ylou  can  do  just  as  you  and  Mrs.  Gwynne  arrange." 

As  the  father  watched  the  little,  trim,  sturdy  figure 
stepping  down  the  street  he  muttered  to  himself,  "That 
child  grows  more  like  her  mother  every  day."  He 
heaved  a  great  sigh  from  the  depths  of  his  heart.  "Well, 
God  keep  her,  wise  little  woman  that  she  is!  I  wish 
I  were  a  wiser  man.  I  must  be  firm  with  her;  it  would 
be  a  shame  to  spoil  her.  Yes,  I  must  be  firm."  But 
he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  smiled  at  himself.  "The 
worst  of  it  is,  or  the  best  of  it  is,"  he  continued,  "the 
little  witch  is  almost  always  right,  God  bless  her,  just 
like  her  mother,  just  like  her  mother."  He  hastily  wiped 
his  eyes,  and  went  off  to  his  office  where  Mrs.  Dean 
awaited  him  and  her  little  girl  with  the  burned  hand. 


JANE  BROWN  79 

And  the  mother  wondered  at  the  gentleness  of  him  as 
he  dressed  the  little  girl's  wounded  hand. 

It  followed  that  the  scouting  party  included  not  only 
Miss  Hazel  Sleighter,  but  also  her  big  brother  Tom,  who, 
being  temporarily  in  the  high  school,  more  perhaps 
because  of  his  size  and  the  maturity  of  his  bearing 
than  by  virtue  of  his  educational  qualifications,  was  at 
the  present  moment  most  chiefly  concerned  in  getting 
into  form  his  baseball  team  for  the  match  the  following 
Saturday  in  which  the  High  School  was  to  meet  All 
Comers  under  eighteen.  The  freight  shed  being  on  his 
way  to  the  practice  ground,  Tom  deigned  to  join  the 
party  and  to  take  in  the  circus  car  as  he  passed.  The 
car  dwellers  were  discovered  on  the  open  prairie  not  far 
from  the  freight  shed,  keeping  guard  over  Rosie,  who 
was  stretching  her  legs  after  her  railway  journey.  The 
boys  were  tossing  a  baseball  to  each  other  as  Tom 
pedalled  up  on  his  wheel. 

"Hello,  there,  here  you  are,"  he  shouted  to  Sam, 
holding  up  his  hands  for  a  catch. 

The  ball  came  with  such  impact  that  Tom  was  dis- 
tinctly jarred,  and  dropped  the  ball.  With  all  his  force 
he  threw  the  ball  back  to  Sam,  who  caught  it  with  the 
ease  of  a  professional  and  returned  it  with  such  vigour 
that  again  Tom  dropped  it. 

"Let's  have  a  knock-up,"  he  said,  hitting  a  long  fly. 

Sam  flew  after  the  ball  with  amazing  swiftness,  his 
scarecrow  garments  fluttering  and  flapping  in  the  air, 
and  caught  it  with  an  upward  leap  that  landed  him  on 
his  back  breathless  but  triumphant. 

"Say,  you're  a  crackerjack,"  said  Tom;  "here's  an- 
other." 

Meanwhile  Larry  was  in  the  hands  of  his  sisters,  who 
had  delightedly  kissed  him  to  his  shamefaced  chagrin, 
and  introduced  him  to  their  new-found  friends. 

"So  this  is  Larry,"  said  Miss  Hazel  Sleighter,  greet- 
ing him  with  a  dazzling  smile.  "We  have  heard  a  lot 


80  THE  MAJOR 

about  you.    I  think  you  must  be  quite  wonderful.    Come 
here,  Tom,  and  meet  your  friends." 

Poor  Larry!  In  the  presence  of  this  radiant  creature 
and  of  her  well-dressed  brother,  he  felt  terribly  conscious 
of  the  shabbiness  of  the  second  best  suit  which  his 
mother  had  thought  good  enough  for  the  journey  in  the 
car.  Tom  glanced  at  the  slight,  poorly  dressed,  pale- 
faced  lad  who  stood  before  him  with  an  embarrassed, 
almost  a  beseeching  look  in  his  eyes. 

"Can  you  play  ball?"  asked  Tom. 

"Not  much,"  replied  Larry;  "not  like  Sam.  Come 
here,  iSam,"  he  called,  remembering  that  he  had  not 
introduced  his  friend.  Sam  shuffled  over  with  an  air 
of  complete  nonchalance. 

"This  is  Sam,"  said  Larry.  "Sam — I  have  forgotten 
your  name." 

"Nolan,"  said  Sam  shortly. 

"Miss  Hazel  Sleighter,"  said  Larry. 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  Hazel,"  said  Sam,  sweeping 
her  an  elaborate  bow,  and  then  gazing  boldly  into  her 
eyes.  "I  hope  you're  well.  If  you're  as  smart  as  you 
look,  I  guess  you're  way  up  in  G." 

"I  am  quite  well,  thank  you,"  returned  Miss  Hazel, 
the  angle  of  her  chin  indicating  her  most  haughty  air. 

"Say,  young  lady,  pass  up  the  chilly  stuff,"  replied 
Sam  with  a  laugh.  "It  don't  go  with  that  mighty  fine 
complexion  of  yours.  Say,  did  you  ever  see  the  lead- 
ing lady  in  'The  Spider's  Web'?  Well,  you  make  me 
think  of  her,  and  she  was  a  peacherino.  Never  seen 
her?  No?  Well,  you  ought  to  see  her  some  day  and 
think  of  me." 

Hazel  turned  a  disgusted  shoulder  on  Sam's  impudent 
face  and  engaged  Larry  in  vivacious  conversation. 

"Well,  I  am  off  to  the  ball  practice,"  said  Tom.  "Got 
a  match  on  Saturday — High  School  against  the  world. 
Guess  they  would  like  to  have  you,  Sam,  only  I  wouldn't 
care  to  have  you  play  against  us.  You  don't  play  base- 


JANE  BROWN  81 

ball,  eh?"  continued  Tom,  addressing  Larry.  "What  do 
you  play — football?" 

"Not  much;  never  tried  much,"  said  Larry,  flushing 
over  his  lack  of  sporting  qualifications. 

"He  plays  the  fiddle,"  said  a  quiet  little  voice. 

Larry,  flushing  violently,  turned  around  and  saw  a 
little,  brown-faced  maid  gazing  thoughtfully  at  him. 

"Oh,  he  does,  eh  ?  Ha,  ha,  ha.  Good  game,  eh  ?  Ha, 
ha,  ha."  They  all  joined  in  the  laugh. 

"And  he  plays  the  mouth  organ,  too,  and  does  funny 
stunts,"  sturdily  continued  the  little  girl,  disdaining 
Tom's  scornful  laughter. 

"Good  for  you,  Jane." 

"Yes,  and  he  passed  his  entrance  to  the  High  School 
a  year  ago  when  he  was  fourteen,  in  Ontario,  anyway." 
This  appeared  to  check  Tom's  hilarity. 

"My,  what  a  wonder  he  is!  And  did  he  tell  you  all 
this  himself?" 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Jane  indignantly. 

"Oh,  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Tom  with  a  grin. 
"Won't  you  come  along,  Sam?  It's  only  a  little  way 
down." 

"All  right,"  said  Sam  cheerfully.  "So  long,  folks. 
See  you  later,  Larry.  Au  reservoir,  young  lady,  as  the 
camel  said  to  the  elephant  when  he  asked  what  he'd 
have.  Hope  I  see  you  later  if  not  sooner — ta-ta;  ting- 
a-ling;  honk  honk."  Again  he  swept  Miss  Hazel  an 
elaborate  bow. 

"Thinks  he's  smart,"  said  that  young  lady,  lifting  her 
nose.  "He's  a  regular  scarecrow.  Who  in  the  world 
is  he  and  where  did  he  come  from?"  she  demanded  of 
L^.rry,  who  proceeded  to  account  for  Sam's  presence  with 
their  party. 

The  visitors  peered  into  the  car  and  poked  into  its 
recesses,  discovered  the  food  supplies  for  boy  and  beast, 
and  inspected  the  dormitories  under  Larry's  guidance, 
while  the  boy,  who  had  recovered  from  his  embarrass- 
ment, discoursed  upon  the  wonderful  experience  of  the 


82  THE  MAJOR 

journey.  Miss  Hazel  flashed  her  great  blue  eyes  and 
her  white  teeth  upon  him,  shook  all  her  frizzes  in  his 
face,  smiled  at  him,  chattered  to  him,  jeered  at  him, 
flattered  him  with  all  the  arts  and  graces  of  the  prac- 
ticed flirt  she  was,  until  Larry,  swept  from  his  bearings, 
walked  the  clouds  in  a  wonder  world  of  rosy  lights  and 
ravishing  airs.  His  face,  his  eyes,  his  eager  words,  his 
tremulous  lips,  were  all  eloquent  of  this  new  passion  that 
possessed  him. 

As  for  Miss  Hazel,  accustomed  as  she  was  to  the  dis- 
criminating admiration  of  her  fellow  clerks,  the  sincerity 
and  abandonment  of  this  devotion  was  as  incense  to  her 
flirtatious  soul.  Avid  of  admiration  and  experienced  in 
most  of  the  arts  and  wiles  necessary  to  secure  this  from 
contiguous  males,  small  wonder  that  the  unsophisticated 
Larry  became  her  easy  prey  long  before  she  had  brought 
to  bear  the  full  complement  of  her  enginery  of  war. 

It  was  a  happy  afternoon  for  the  boy,  but  when  in- 
formed by  his  sisters  of  his  mother's  desire  that  he 
should  return  with  them,  he  was  resolute  in  his  refusal, 
urging  many  reasons  why  it  was  impossible  that  he 
should  leave  the  car  and  his  comrades.  There  was  noth- 
ing for  it  but  to  leave  him  there  and  report  to  his 
mother  their  failure. 

"I  might  have  known,"  she  said.  "He  would  never 
come  to  a  stranger's  house  in  his  old  clothes.  I  will 
just  bring  down  his  best  suit  after  tea." 

The  dinner  hour  at  Dr.  Brown's  was  fully  occupied 
with  an  animated  recital  of  the  adventures  of  the  after- 
noon. Each  member  of  the  car  party  was  described  with 
an  accuracy  and  fulness  of  detail  that  would  have  sur- 
prised him. 

"And  you  know,  Papa,"  said  the  little  maid,  "Tom 
just  laughed  at  Larry  because  he  could  not  play  base- 
ball and  things,  and  I  just  told  him  that  Larry  could 
play  the  mouth  organ  lovely  and  the  riddle,  and  they 
laughed  and  laughed.  I  think  they  were  laughing  at 
me.  Tom  laughed  loudest  of  all,  and  he's  not  so  smart 


JANE  BROWN  83 

himself,  and  anyway  Larry  passed  the  entrance  a  year 
ago  and  I  just  told  him  so." 

"Oh,  did  you,"  said  her  father,  "and  how  did  Master 
Tom  take  that?" 

"He  didn't  laugh  quite  as  much.  I  don't  think  I  like 
him  very  much." 

"Ah?" 

"But  Hazel,  she  was  just  lovely  to  Larry.  I  think 
she's  nice,  Papa,  and  such  lovely  cheeks  and  hair."  Here 
Jane  sighed. 

"Oh,  has  she?  She  is  quite  a  grown-up  young  lady, 
is  she  not?" 

"She  has  her  hair  up,  Papa.  She's  sixteen,  you 
know." 

"I  remember  you  told  me  that  she  had  reached  that 
mature  age." 

"And  I  think  Larry  liked  her,  too." 

"Ah?    And  why  do  you  think  so?" 

"He  just  looked  at  her,  and  looked,  and  looked." 

"Well,  that  seems  fairly  good  evidence." 

"And  he  is  coming  up  here  to-night  when  we  bring 
him  his  good  clothes." 

"Oh,  you  are  to  bring  him  his  good  clothes,  are  you?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Gwynne  and  I  are  taking  them  down  in 
the  carriage." 

"Oh,  in  the  carriage — Mrs.  Gwynne " 

"Yes,  you  know Oh,  here's  Nora  at  the  door. 

Excuse  me,  Papa.  I  am  sure  it  is  important." 

She  ran  to  the  door  and  in  a  moment  or  two  returned 
with  a  note.  "It's  for  you,  Papa,  and  I  know  it's  about 
the  carriage."  She  watched  her  father  somewhat  anx- 
iously as  he  read  the  note. 

"Umm-um.  Very  good,  very  nice  and  proper.  Cer- 
tainly. Just  say  to  Mrs.  Gwynne  that  we  are  very 
pleased  to  be  able  to  serve  her  with  the  carriage,  and 
that  we  hope  Larry  will  do  us  the  honour  of  coming 
to  us." 

Jane  nodded  delightedly.    "I  know,  Papa.    I  told  her 


84  THE  MAJOR 

that  already.  But  I'll  tell  her  this  is  the  answer  to  the 
note." 

Under  Jane's  direction  and  care  they  made  their  visit 
to  the  car,  but  on  their  return  no  Larry  was  with  them. 
He  would  come  after  the  picnic  and  baseball  game  to- 
morrow, perhaps,  but  not  to-night.  His  mother  was 
plainly  disappointed,  and  indeed  a  little  hurt.  She  could 
not  understand  her  son.  It  was  not  his  clothes  after  all 
as  she  had  thought.  She  pondered  over  his  last  words 
spoken  as  he  bade  her  farewell  at  the  car  door,  and  was 
even  more  mystified. 

"I'll  be  glad  when  we  get  to  our  own  place  again,"  he 
said.  "I  hate  to  be  beholden  to  anybody.  We're  as 
good  as  any  of  them  anyway."  The  bitterness  in  his 
tone  mystified  her  still  more. 

It  was  little  Jane  who  supplied  the  key  to  the  mystery. 
*'I  don't  think  he  likes  Tom  very  much,"  said  the  little 
girl.  "He  likes  Hazel,  though.  But  he  might  have 
come  to  our  house;  I  did  not  laugh."  And  then  the 
mother  thought  she  understood. 

That  sudden  intensity  of  bitterness  in  her  boy's  voice 
startled  her  a  little,  but  deep  down  in  her  heart  she  was 
conscious  of  a  queer  feeling  of  satisfaction,  almost  of 
pride.  ''He's  just  like  his  father,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"He  likes  to  be  independent."  Strict  honesty  in  thought 
made  her  add,  "And  like  me,  too,  I  fear." 

The  picnic  day  was  one  of  those  intensely  hot  June 
days  when  the  whole  world  seems  to  stand  quivering  and 
breathlessly  attent  while  Nature  works  out  one  of  her 
miracles  over  fields  of  grain,  over  prairie  flowers,  over 
umbrageous  trees  and  all  things  borne  upon  the  bosom 
of  Mother  Earth,  checking  the  succulence  of  precocious 
overgrowths,  hardening  fibre,  turning  plant  energy  away 
from  selfish  exuberance  in  mere  stalk  building  into 
the  altruistic  sacrament  of  ripening  fruit  and  hardening 
grain.  A  wise  old  alchemist  is  Mother  Earth,  working  in 
time  but  ever  for  eternity. 

The  picnickers  who  went  out  to  the  park  early  in  the 


JAXE  BROWN  85 

day  were  driven  for  refuge  from  the  blazing  sun  to  the 
trees  and  bushes,  where  prostrated  by  the  heat  they  lay 
limp  and  flaccid  upon  the  grass.  Miss  Hazel  Sleighter, 
who  for  some  reason  which  she  could  not  explain  to  her- 
self had  joined,  the  first  contingent  of  picnickers,  was 
cross,  distinctly  and  obviously  cross.  The  heat  was 
trying  to  her  nerves,  but  worse,  it  made  her  face  red- 
red  all  over.  Her  pink  parasol  intensified  the  glov 
upon  her  face. 

"What  a  fool  I  was  to  come,  in  this  awful  heat,"  she 
said  to  herself.  "They  won't  be  here  for  hours,  and  I 
will  be  just  like  a  wash-rag." 

Nor  was  Larry  enjoying  the  picnic.  The  material 
comforts  in  the  form  of  sandwiches,  cakes  and  pies, 
gloriously  culminating  in  lemonade  and  ice  cream,  while 
contributing  a  temporary  pleasure,  could  not  obliterate 
a  sense  of  misery  wrought  in  him  by  Miss  Hazel's  chilly 
indifference.  That  young  lady,  whose  smiles  so  lavishly 
bestowed  only  yesterday  had  made  for  him  a  new  heaven 
and  a  new  earth,  had  to-day  merely  thrown  him  a  pass- 
ing glance  and  a  careless  "Hello,"  as  she  floated  by  in- 
tent on  bigger  game. 

In  addition,  the  boy  was  conscious  of  an  overpowering 
lassitude  that  increased  as  the  day  wore  on.  His  misery 
and  its  chief  cause  had  not  escaped  the  observing  eyes 
of  the  little  maid,  Jane  Brown,  whose  clear  and  incisive 
voice  was  distinctly  audible  as  she  confided  to  her  friend 
Nora  her  disappointment  in  Miss  Hazel. 

"She  won't  look  at  him  to-day,"  she  said.  "She's 
just  waiting  for  the  boys  to  come.  She'll  be  nicer  then." 

There  was  no  animus  in  the  voice,  only  surprise  and 
disappointment.  To  Larry,  however,  the  fact  that  the 
secret  tragedy  of  his  soul  was  thus  laid  bare,  filled  him 
with  a  sudden  rage.  He  cast  a  wrathful  eye  upon  the 
little  maid.  She  met  his  glance  with  a  placid  smile,  vol- 
unteering the  cheerful  remark,  "They  won't  be  long 
now." 


86  THE  MAJOR 

A  fury  possessed  the  boy.  "Oh  shut  your  mouth, 
will  you?"  he  said,  glaring  at  her. 

For  a  moment  little  Jane  looked  at  him,  surprise,  dis- 
may, finally  pity  succeeding  each  other  in  the  deep  blue 
eyes.  Hastily  she  glanced  about  to  see  if  the  others 
had  heard  the  awful  outburst.  She  was  relieved  to  note 
that  only  Joe  and  Nora  were  near  enough  to  hear.  She 
settled  herself  down  in  a  position  of  greater  comfort 
and  confided  to  her  friend  Nora  with  an  air  of  almost 
maternal  solicitude,  "I  believe  he  has  a  pain.  I  am  sure 
he  has  a  pain." 

Larry  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  without  a  glance  at  his 
anxious  tormentor  said,  "Come  on,  Joe,  let's  go  for  a 
hunt  in  the  woods." 

Jane  looked  wistfully  after  the  departing  boys.  "I 
wish  they  would  ask  us,  Nora.  Don't  you?  I  think 
he  is  nice  when  he  isn't  mad,"  she  said.  To  which  Nora 
firmly  assented. 

A  breeze  from  the  west  and  the  arrival  of  the  High 
School  team,  resplendent  in  their  new  baseball  uniforms, 
brought  to  the  limp  loiterers  under  the  trees  a  reviving 
life  and  interest  in  the  day's  doings. 

It  was  due  to  Jane  that  Sam  got  into  the  game,  for 
when  young  Frank  Smart  was  searching  for  a  suitable 
left  fielder  to  complete  the  All  Comers  team,  he  spied 
seated  among  the  boys  the  little  girl. 

"Hello,  Jane ;  in  your  usual  place,  I  see !"  he  called  out 
to  her  as  he  passed. 

"Hello,  Frank !"  she  called  to  him  brightly.  "Frank ! 
Frank!"  she  cried,  after  the  young  man  had  passed, 
springing  up  and  running  after  him. 

"I  am  in  a  hurry,  Jane;  I' must  get  a  man  for  left 
field." 

"But,  Frank,"  she  said,  catching  his  arm,  for  young 
Smart  was  a  great  friend  of  hers  and  of  her  father's. 
"I  want  to  tell  you.  You  see  that  funny  boy  under  the 
tree,"  she  continued,  lowering  her  voice.  "Well,  he's  a 
splendid  player.  Tom  doesn't  want  him  to  play,  and  I 


JANE  BROWN  87 

don't  either,  because  I  want  the  High  School  to  beat. 
But  it  would  not  be  fair  not  to  tell  you,  would  it?" 

Young  Smart  looked  at  her  curiously.  "Say,  little 
girl,  you're  a  sport.  And  is  he  a  good  player?" 

"Oh,  he's  splendid,  but  he's  queer- — I  mean  he  looks 
queer.  He's  awfully  funny.  But  that  doesn't  matter, 
does  it?" 

"Not  a  hair,  if  he  can  play  ball.    What's  his  name?" 

"Sam — something." 

"Sam  Something?     That  is  a  funny  name." 

"Oh,  you  know,  Sam.    I  don't  know  his  other  name." 

"Well,  I'll  try  him,  Jane,"  said  young  Smart,  moving 
toward  the  boy  and  followed  by  the  eager  eyes  of  the 
little  girl. 

"I  say,  Sam,"  said  Smart,  "we  want  a  man  for  left 
field.  Will  you  take  a  go  at  it?" 

"Too  hot,"  grunted  Sam. 

"Oh,  you  won't  find  it  too  hot  when  you  get  started. 
Rip  off  your  coat  and  get  into  the  game.  You  can  play, 
can't  you?" 

"Aw,  what  yer  givin'  us.  I  guess  I  can  give  them 
ginks  a  few  pointers." 

"Well,  come  on." 

"Too  hot,"  said  Sam. 

Jane  pulled  young  Smart  by  the  sleeve.  "Tell  him  you 
will  give  him  a  jersey,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "His 
shirt  is  torn." 

Again  young  Smart  looked  at  Jane  with  scrutinising 
eyes.  "You're  a  wonder,"  he  said. 

"Come  along,  Sam.  You  haven't  got  your  sweater 
with  you,  but  I  will  get  one  for  you.  Get  into  the  bush 
there  and  change." 

With  apparent  reluctance,  but  with  a  gleam  in  his  little 
red  eyes,  Sam  slouched  into  the  woods  to  make  the 
change,  and  in  a  few  moments  came  forth  and  ran  to 
take  his  position  at  left  field. 

The  baseball  match  turned  out  to  be  a  mere  setting 
for  the  display  of  the  eccentricities  and  superior  base- 


88 

ball  qualities  of  Sam,  which  apparently  quite  outclassed 
those  of  his  teammates  in  the  match.  After  three  dis- 
astrous innings,  Sam  caused  himself  to  be  moved  first  to 
the  position  of  short  stop,  and  later  to  the  pitcher's  box, 
to  the  immense  advantage  of  his  side.  But  although, 
owing  to  the  lead  obtained  by  the  enemy,  his  prowess 
was  unable  to  ward  oft"  defeat  from  All  Comers,  vet 
under  his  inspiration  and  skilful  generalship,  the  team 
made  such  a  brilliant  recovery  of  form  and  came,  so 
near  victory  that  Sam  was  carried  from  the  field  in 
triumph  shoulder  high  and  departed  with  his  new  and 
enthusiastically  grateful  comrades  to  a  celebration. 

Larry,  however,  was  much  too  miserable  and  much 
too  unhappy  for  anything  like  a  celebration.  The  boy 
was  oppressed  with  a  feeling  of  loneliness,  and  was  con- 
scious chiefly  of  a  desire  to  reach  his  car  and  crawl  into 
his  bed  there  among  the  straw.  Stumbling  blindly  along 
the  dusty  road,  a  cheery  voice  hailed  him. 

"Hello,  Larry !"  It  was  Jane  seated  beside  her  father 
in  his  car. 

"Hello!"  he  answered  faintly  and  just  glanced  at  her 
as  the  car  passed. 

But  soon  the  car  pulled  up.  "Come  on,  Larry,  we'll 
take  you  home,"  said  Jane. 

"Oh,  I'm  all  fight,"  said  Larry,  forcing  his  lips  into 
his  old  smile  and  resolutely  plodding  on. 

"Better  come  up,  my  boy,"  said  the  doctor. 

"I  don't  mind  walking,  sir,"  replied  Larry,  stubbornly 
determined  to  go  his  lonely  way. 

"Come  here,  boy,"  said  the  doctor,  regarding  him 
keenly.  Larry  came  over  to  the  wheel.  "Why,  boy, 
what  is  the  matter?"  The  doctor  took  hold  of  his  hand. 

Larry  gripped  the  wheel  hard.  He  was  feeling  desper- 
ately ill  and  unsteady  on  his  legs,  but  still  his  lips  twisted 
themselves  into  a  smile.  "I'm  all  right,  sir,"  he  said; 
"I've  got  a  headache  and  it  was  pretty  hot  out  there." 

But  even  as  he  spoke  his  face  grew  white  and  he 
swayed  on  his  feet.  In  an  instant  the  doctor  was  out 


JANE  BROWN  89 

of  his  car.  "Get  in,  lad,"  he  said  briefly,  and  Larry, 
surrendering,  climbed  into  the  back  seat,  fighting  fiercely 
meanwhile  to  prevent  the  tears  from  showing  in  his 
eyes.  Keeping  up  a  brisk  and  cheerful  conversation  with 
Jane  in  regard  to  the  game,  the  doctor  drove  rapidly 
toward  his  home. 

"You  will  come  in  with  us,  my  boy,"  said  the  doctor 
as  they  reached  his  door. 

By  this  time  Larry  was  past  all  power  of  resistance 
and  yielded  himself  to  the  authority  of  the  doctor,  who 
had  him  upstairs  and  into  bed  within  a  few  minutes  of 
his  arrival.  A  single  word  Larry  uttered  during  this 
process,  "Tell  my  mother,"  and  then  sank  into  a  long 
nightmare,  through  which  there  mingled  dim  shapes  and 
quiet  voices,  followed  by  dreamless  sleep,  and  an  awaken- 
ing to  weakness  that  made  the  lifting  of  his  eyelids  an 
effort  and  the  movement  of  his  hand  a  weariness.  The 
first  object  that  loomed  intelligible  through  the  fog  in 
which  he  seemed  to  move  was  a  little  plain  face  with 
great  blue  eyes  carrying  in  them  a  cloud  of  maternal 
anxiety.  Suddenly  the  cloud  broke  and  the  sun  burst 
through  in  a  joyous  riot,  for  in  a  voice  that  seemed  to 
him  unfamiliar  and  remote  Larry  uttered  the  single 
word,  "Jane." 

"Oh!"  cried  the  little  girl  rapturously.  "Oh,  Larry, 
wait."  She  slipped  from  the  room  and  returned  in  a 
moment  with  his  mother,  who  quickly  came  to  his  side. 

"You  are  rested,  dear,"  she  said,  putting  her  hand 
under  his  head.  "Drink  this.  No,  don't  lift  your  head. 
Now  then,  go  to  sleep  again,  darling,"  and,  stooping 
down,  she  kissed  him  softly. 

"Why — are — you — crying?"  he  asked  faintly. 
"What's  the— matter?" 

"Nothing,  darling;  you  are  better.     Just  sleep." 

"Better  ?— Have — I — been— sick  ?" 

"Yes,  you  have  been  sick,"  said  his  mother. 

"Awfully  sick,  "  said  Jane  solemnly.  "A  whole  week 
sick.  But  you  are  all  right  now,"  she  added  brightly, 


90  THE  MAJOR 

"and  so  is  Joe,  and  Sam,  and  Rover  and  Rosie.  I  saw 
them  all  this  morning  and  you  know  we  have  been 
praying  and  praying  and " 

"Now  he  will  sleep,  Jane,"  said  his  mother,  gently 
touching  the  little  girl's  brown  tangle  of  hair. 

"Yes,  he  will  sleep;  oh,  I'm  just  awful  thankful," 
said  Jane,  suddenly  rushing  out  of  the  room. 

"Dear  little  girl,"  said  the  mother.  "She  has  been 
so  anxious  and  so  helpful — a  wonderful  little  nurse." 

But  Larry  was  fast  asleep,  and  before  he  was  inter- 
ested enough  to  make  inquiry  about  his  comrades  in 
travel  the  car  in  charge  of  Joe  and  Sam,  with  Mr. 
Gwynne  in  the  caboose,  was  far  on  its  way  to  Alberta. 
After  some  days  Jane  was  allowed  to  entertain  the  sick 
boy,  as  was  her  custom  with  her  father,  by  giving  an 
account  of  her  day's  doings.  These  were  happy  days 
for  them  both.  Between  the  boy  and  the  girl  the  begin- 
nings of  a  great  friendship  sprang  up. 

"Larry,  I  think  you  are  queer,"  said  Jane  to  him 
gravely  one  day.  "You  are  not  a  bit  like  you  were  in 
the  car." 

A  quick  flush  appeared  on  the  boy's  face.  "I  guess  I 
was  queer  that  day,  Jane,"  he  said.  "I  know  I  felt 
queer." 

"Yes,  that's  it,"  said  Jane,  delighted  by  some  sudden 
recollection.  "You  were  queer  then,  and  now  you're 
just  ornary.  My,  you  were  sick  and  you  were  cross, 
too,  awful  cross  that  day.  I  guess  it  was  the  headick. 
I  get  awfully  cross,  too,  when  I  have  the  headick.  I 
don't  think  you  will  be  cross  again  ever,  will  you, 
Larry?" 

Larry,  smiling  at  her,  replied,  "I'll  never  be  cross 
with  you,  Jane,  anyway,  never  again." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   GIRL  OF   THE   WOOD   LOT 

JUNE,  and  the  sun  flooding  with  a  golden  shimmer 
a  land  of  tawny  prairie,  billowy  hills,  wooded  val- 
leys and  mountain  peaks  white  with  eternal  snows,  touch- 
ing with  silver  a  stream  which,  glacier-born,  hurled  it- 
self down  mountain  sides  in  fairy  films  of  mist,  rushed 
through  canons  in  a  mad  torrent,  hurried  between  hills 
in  a  swollen  flood,  meandered  along  wide  valleys  in  a 
full-lipped  tide,  lingered  in  a  placid  lake  in  a  bit  of  low- 
land banked  with  poplar  bluffs,  and  so  onward  past 
ranch-stead  and  homestead  to  the  great  Saskatchewan 
and  Father  Ocean,  prairie  and  hills,  valleys  and  moun- 
tains, river  and  lake,  making  a  wonder  world  of  light 
and  warmth  and  colour  and  joyous  life. 

Two  riders  on  rangey  bronchos,  followed  by  two  Rus- 
sian boarhounds,  climbed  the  trail  that  went  winding  up 
among  the  hills  towards  a  height  which  broke  abruptly 
into  a  ridge  of  bare  rock.  Upon  the  ridge  they  paused. 

"There!  Can  you  beat  that?  If  so,  where?"  The 
lady  swept  her  gauntletted  hand  toward  the  scene  be- 
low. Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  was  tall,  strongly  made,  hand- 
some with  that  comeliness  which  perfect  health  and  out- 
of-doors  life  combine  to  give,  her  dark  hair,  dark  flash- 
ing eyes,  straight  nose,  wide,  full-lipped  curving  mouth, 
and  a  chin  whose  chiselled  firmness  was  softened  but  not 
weakened  by  a  dimple,  making  a  picture  good  to  look 
upon. 

"There!"  she  cried  again,  "tell  me,  can  you  beat  it?" 

"Glorious!  Sybil,  utterly  and  splendidly  glorious!" 
said  her  brother,  his  eyes  sweeping  the  picture  below. 

91 


92  THE  MAJOR 

"And  you  too,  Sybil,"  he  said,  turning  his  eyes  upon 
her.  "This  country  has  done  you  well.  By  jove,  what 
a  transformation  from  the  white-faced,  willowy " 

"Weedy,"  said  she. 

"Well,  as  it's  no  longer  true,  weedy — woman  that 
faded  out  of  London,  how  many — eight  years  ago!" 

"Ten  years,  ten  long,  glorious,  splendid  years." 

"Ten  years!     Surely  not  ten!" 

"Yes,  ten  beautiful  years." 

"I  wish  to  God  I  had  come  with  you  then.  I  might 
have  been — well,  I  should  have  been  saved  some  bumps 
and  a  ghastly  cropper  at  last." 

"  'Cut  it  out,'  Jack,  as  the  boys  say  here.  En  want! 
We  never  look  back  in  this  land,  but  ever  forward.  Oh, 
now  isn't  this  worth  while  ?"  Again  she  swept  her  hand 
toward  the  scene  below  her.  "Look  at  that  waving 
line  in  the  east,  that  broad  sweep;  and  here  at  our  left, 
those  great,  majestic  things.  I  love  them.  I  love  every 
scar  in  their  old  grey  faces.  They  have  been  good  friends 
to  me.  But  for  them  some  days  might  have  been  hard 
to  live  through,  but  they  were  always  there  like  friends, 
watching,  understanding.  They  kept  me  steady." 

"You  must  have  had  some  difficult  days,  old  girl,  in 
this  awful  land.  Yes,  yes,  I  know  it's  glorious,  espe- 
cially on  a  day  like  this  and  in  a  light  like  this;  but 
after  all,  you  are  away  from  the  world,  away  from 
everybody,  and  shut  off  from  everything,  from  life,  art 
— how  could  you  stick  it?" 

"Jack  are  you  sympathising  with  me?  Let  me  tell 
you  your  sympathy  is  wasted.  I  have  had  lonely  days 
in  this  land,  of  course.  When  Tom  was  off  on  busi- 
ness— Oh!  that  man  has  been  perfectly  splendid.  Jack! 
He's  been — well,  I  can't  tell  you  all  he  has  been  to 
me — father,  mother,  husband,  chum,  he's  been  to  me, 
and  more.  And  he's  made  good  in  the  country,  too. 
Now  look  again  at  this  view.  We  always  stop  to  look 
at  it,  Tom  and  I,  from  this  point.  Tell  me  if  you  have 
ever  seen  anything  quite  as  wonderful!" 


THE  GIRL  OF  THE  WOOD  LOT     93 

• 

"Yes,  it's  glorious,  a  little  like  the  veldt,  with,  of 
course,  the  mountains  extra,  and  they  do  rather  finish 
the  thing  in  the  grand  style." 

"Grand  style,  well,  rather!  A  great  traveller  who  has 
seen  most  of  the  world's  beautiful  spots  told  me  he  had 
never  looked  on  anything  quite  so  splendid  as  the  view 
from  here — so  spacious,  so  varied,  so  majestic.  Ah,  I 
love  it,  and  the  country  has  been  good  to  me ! 

"I  don't  mean  physically  only,  but  in  every  way — in 
body,  soul  and  mind.  And  for  Tom,  too,  the  country 
has  done  much.  In  England,  you  know,  he  was  just 
loafing,  filling  in  time  with  one  useless  thing  after  an- 
other, and  on  the  way  to  get  fat  and  lazy.  Here  he  is 
doing  things,  things  worth  while.  His  ranch  is  quite 
a  success.  Then  he  is  always  busy  organising  various 
sorts  of  industries  in  the  country— dairying,  lumbering 
and  that  sort  of  thing.  He  has  introduced  thoroughbred 
stock.  He  helps  with  the  schools,  the  churches,  the  Agri- 
cultural Institutes.  In  short,  he  is  doing  his  part  to 
bring  this  country  to  its  best.  And  this,  you  know,  is 
the  finest  bit  of  all  Canada!" 

Her  brother  laughed.  "Pardon  me,"  he  said,  "there 
are  so  many  of  these  'finest  bits.'  In  Nova  Scotia,  in 
Quebec,  I  have  found  them.  The  people  of  Ontario  are 
certain  that  the  'finest  bit'  is  in  their  province,  while  in 
British  Columbia  they  are  ready  to  fight  if  one  suggests 
anything  to  the  contrary." 

"I  know.  I  know.  It  is  perfectly  splendid  of  them. 
You  know  we  Canadians  are  quite  foolish  about  our 
country." 

"We  Canadians!" 

"Yes.  We  Canadians.  What  else?  We  are  quite 
mad  about  the  future  of  our  country.  And  that  is  why 
I  wanted  you  to  come  out  here,  Jack.  There  is  so  much 
a  man  like  you  might  do  with  your  brains  and  training. 
Yes.  Your  Oxford  training  is  none  too  good  for  this 
country,  and  your  brain  none  too  clever  for  this  big 
work  of  laying  the  foundations  of  a  great  Empire.  This 


94  THE  MAJOR 

is  big  enough  for  the  biggest  of  you.  Bigger,  even,  than 
the  thing  you  were  doing  at  home,  Jack.  Oh,  I  heard 
all  about  it!" 

"You  heard  all  about  it?  I  hope  not.  I  hope  you 
have  not  heard  of  the  awful  mess  I  made  of  things." 

"Nonsense,  Jack !  'Forward'  is  the  word  here.  Here 
is  an  Empire  in  the  making,  another  Britain,  greater, 
finer,  and  without  the  hideous  inequalities,  injustices  and 
foolish  class  distinctions  of  the  old." 

"My  God!  Sybil,  you  sound  like  Lloyd  George  him- 
self! Please  don't  recall  that  ghastly  radicalism  to  me." 

"Never  mind  what  it  sounds  like.  You  will  get  it 
too.  We  all  catch  it  here,  especially  Old  Country  folk. 
For  instance,  look  away  to  the  left  there.  See  that  little 
clump  of  buildings  beside  the  lake  just  through  the  pop- 
lars. There  is  a  family  of  Canadians  typical  of  the  best, 
the  Gwynnes,  our  closest  neighbours.  Good  Irish  stock, 
they  are.  They  came  two  years  after  we  came.  Lost 
their  little  bit  of  money.  Suffered,  my!  how  they  must 
have  suffered!  though  they  were  too  proud  to  tell  any 
of  us.  The  father  is  a  gentleman,  finely  educated,  but 
with  no  business  ability.  The.  mother  all  gold  and  grit, 
heroic  little  woman  who  kept  the  family  together.  The 
eldest  boy  of  fifteen  or  sixteen,  rather  delicate  when  he 
came,  but  fearfully  plucky,  has  helped  amazingly.  He 
taught  the  school,  putting  his  money  into  the  farm  year 
after  year.  While  teaching  the  school  he  somehow  man- 
aged to  grip  hold  of  the  social  life  of  this  community  in 
a  wonderful  way,  preached  for  Mr.  Rhye,  taught  a 
Bible  Class  for  him,  quite  unique  in  its  way;  organised 
a  kind  of  Literary-Social-Choral-Minstrel  Club  and  has 
added  tremendously  to  the  life  and  gaiety  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood. What  we  shall  do  when  he  leaves,  I  know 
not.  You  will  like  them,  I  am  sure.  We  shall  drop  in 
there  on  our  way,  if  you  like." 

"Ah,  well,  perhaps  sometime  later.  They  all  sound 
rather  terribly  industrious  and  efficient  for  a  mere 
slacker  like  myself." 


THE  GIRL  OF  THE  WOOD  LOT     95 

Along  the  trail  they  galloped,  following  the  dogs  for 
a  mile  or  so  until  checked  by  a  full  flowing  stream. 

"I  say,  Willow  Creek  is  really  quite  in  flood,"  said 
his  sister.  "The  hot  sun  has  brought  down  the  snows, 
you  know.  The  logs  are  running,  too.  We  will  have 
to  go  a  bit  carefully.  Hold  well  up  to  the  stream  and 
watch  the  logs.  Keep  your  eye  on  the  bank  opposite. 
No,  no,  keep  up,  follow  me.  Look  out,  or  you  will  get 
into  deep  water.  Keep  to  the  right.  There,  that's  bet- 
ter." 

"I  say,"  said  her  brother,  as  his  horse  clambered  out 
of  the  swollen  stream.  "That's  rather  a  close  thing  to 
a  ducking.  Awfully  like  the  veldt  streams,  you  know. 
Ice  cold,  too,  I  fancy." 

"Ice  cold,  indeed,  glacier  water,  you  know,  and  these 
logs  make  it  very  awkward.  The  Gwynnes  must  be  run- 
ning down  their  timber  and  firewood.  We  might  just 
run  up  and  look  in  on  them.  It's  only  a  mile  or  so. 
Nora  will  be  there.  She  will  be  'bossing  the  job,'  as 
she  says.  It  will  be  rather  interesting." 

"Well,  I  hope  it  is  not  too  far,  for  I  assure  you  I  am 
getting  quite  ravenous." 

"No,  come  along,  there's  a  good  trail  here." 

A  smart  canter  brought  them  to  a  rather  pretentious 
homestead  with  considerable  barns  and  outbuildings  at- 
tached. "This  is  the  Switzers'  place,"  said  Mrs.  Wa- 
ring-Gaunt.  "German-Americans,  old  settlers  and  quite 
well  off.  The  father  owned  the  land  on  which  Wolf 
Willow  village  stands.  He  made  quite  a  lot  of  money 
in  real  estate — village  lots  and  farm  lands,  you  know. 
He  is  an  excellent  farmer  and  ambitious  for  his  fam- 
ily— one  son  and  one  daughter.  They  are  quite  plain 
people.  They  live  like — well,  like  Germans,  you  know. 
The  mother  is  a  regular  hausfrau;  the  daughter,  quite 
nice,  plays  the  violin  beautifully.  It  was  from  her  young 
Gwynne  got  his  violining.  The  son  went  to  college  in 
the  States,  then  to  Germany  for  a  couple  of  years.  He 
came  back  here  a  year  ago,  terribly  German  and  terribly 


96  THE  MAJOR 

military,  heel  clicking,  ram-rod  back,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  Musical,  too,  awfully  clever;  rather  think  he 
has  political  ambitions.  We'll  not  go  in  to-day.  Some 
day,  perhaps.  Indeed,  we  must  be  neighbourly  in  this 
country.  But  the  Switzers  are  a  little  trying." 

"Why  know  them  at  all?" 

"There  you  are!"  cried  his  sister.  "Fancy  living  be- 
side people  in  this  country  and  not  knowing  them.  Can't 
you  see  that  we  must  not  let  things  get  awry  that  way? 
We  must  all  pull  together.  Tom  is  fearfully  strong  on 
that,  and  he  is  right,  too,  I  suppose,  although  it  is  trying 
at  times.  Now  we  begin  to  climb  a  bit  here.  Then 
there  are  good  stretches  further  along  where  we  can 
hurry." 

But  it  seemed  to  her  brother  that  the  good  stretches 
were  rather  fewer  and  shorter  than  the  others,  for  the 
sun  was  overhead  when  they  pulled  up  their  horses, 
steaming  and  ready  enough  to  halt,  in  a  small  clearing 
in  the  midst  of  a  thick  bit  of  forest.  The  timber  was 
for  the  main  part  of  soft  woods,  poplar,  yellow  and 
black,  cottonwood,  and  further  up  among  hills  spruce 
and  red  pine.  In  the  centre  of  the  clearing  stood  a 
rough  log  cabin  with  a  wide  porch  running  around  two 
sides.  Upon  this  porch  a  young  girl  was  to  be  seen 
busy  over  a  cook  stove.  At  the  noise  of  the  approaching 
horses  the  girl  turned  from  her  work  and  looked  across 
the  clearing  at  them. 

"Heavens  above!  who  is  that,  Sybil?"  gasped  her 
brother. 

Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  g?ve  a  delighted  little  cry.  "Oh, 
my  dear,  you  are  really  back."  In  a  moment  she  was 
off  her  horse  and  rushing  toward  the  girl  with  her  arms 
outstretched.  "Kathleen,  darling!  Is  it  you?  And 
you  have  really  grown,  I  believe!  Or  is  it  your  hair? 
Come  let  me  introduce  you  to  my  brother." 

Jack  Romayne  was  a  young  man  with  thirty  years  of 
experience  of  the  normal  life  of  the  well-born  English- 
man, during  which  time  he  had  often  known  what  it 


THE  GIRL  OF  THE  WOOD  LOT     97 

was  to  have  his  senses  stirred  and  his  pulses  quickened  by 
the  sight  of  one  of  England's  fair  women,  than  whom 
none  of  fresher  and  fairer  beauty  are  to  be  found  in 
all  the  world;  yet  never  had  he  found  himself  anything 
but  master  of  his  speech  and  behaviour.  But  to-day, 
when,  in  obedience  to  his  sister's  call,  he  moved  across 
the  little  clearing  toward  the  girl  standing  at  her  side, 
he  seemed  to  lose  consciousness  of  himself  and  control 
of  his  powers  of  action.  He  was  instead  faintly  con- 
scious that  a  girl  of  tall  and  slender  grace,  with  an 
aura  of  golden  hair  about  a  face  lovelier  than  he  had 
ever  known,  was  looking  at  him  out  of  eyes  as  blue  as 
the  prairie  crocus  and  as  shy  and  sweet,  that  she  laid 
her  hand  in  his  as  if  giving  him  something  of  herself, 
that  holding  her  hand  how  long  he  knew  not,  he  found 
himself  gazing  through  those  eyes  of  translucent  blue  in- 
to a  soul  of  unstained  purity  as  one  might  gaze  into  a 
shrine,  and  that  he  continued  gazing  until  the  blue  eyes 
clouded  and  the  fair  face  flushed  crimson,  that  then, 
without  a  word,  he  turned  from  her,  thrilling  with  a  new 
gladness  which  seemed  to  fill  not  only  his  soul  but  the 
whole  world  as  well.  When  he  came  to  himself  he 
found  his  trembling  fingers  fumbling  with  the  bridle  of 
his  horse.  For  a  few  moments  he  became  aware  of  a 
blind  rage  possessing  him  and  he  cursed  deeply  his  stupid- 
ity and  the  gaucherie  of  his  manner.  But  soon  he  forgot 
his  rage  for  thinking  of  her  eyes  and  of  what  he  had 
seen  behind  their  translucent  blue. 

"My  dear  child,"  again  exclaimed  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt, 
"I  declare  you  have  actually  grown  taller  and  grown — 
a  great  many  other  things  that  I  may  not  tell  you.  What 
have  they  done  to  you  at  that  wonderful  school?  Did 
you  love  it?" 

The  girl  flushed  with  a  quick  emotion.  "Oh,  Mrs. 
Waring-Gaunt,  it  was  really  wonderful.  I  had  such  a 
good  time  and  every  one  was  lovely  to  me.  I  did  not 
know  people  could  be  so  kind.  But  it  is  good  to  get 


98  THE  MAJOR 

back  home  again  to  them  all,  and  to  you,  and  to  all 
this."  She  waved  her  hand  to  the  forest  about  her. 

"And  who  are  up  here  to-day,  and  what  are  you  do- 
ing?" inquired  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt. 

"In  the  meantime  I  am  preparing  dinner,"  said  the 
girl  with  a  laugh. 

"Dinner!"  exclaimed  Jack  Romayne,  who  had  mean- 
time drawn  near,  determined  to  rehabilitate  himself  in 
the  eyes  of  this  girl  as  a  man  familiar  with  the  decencies 
of  polite  society.  "Dinner!  It  smells  so  good  and  we 
are  desperately  hungry." 

"Yes,"  cried  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt.  "My  brother  de- 
clared he  was  quite  faint  more  than  an  hour  ago,  and 
now  I  am  sure  he  is." 

"Fairly  ravenous." 

"But  I  don't  know,"  said  the  girl  with  serious  anxiety 
on  her  face.  "You  see,  we  have  only  pork  and  fried 
potatoes,  and  Nora  just  shot  a  chicken — only  one — and 
they  are  always  so  hungry.  But  we  have  plenty  of 
bread  and  tea.  Would  you  stay?" 

"It  sounds  really  very  nice,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt. 

"It  would  be  awfully  jolly  of  you,  and  I  promise  not 
to  eat  too  much,"  said  the  young  man.  "I  am  actually 
faint  with  hunger,  and  a  cup  of  tea  appears  necessary 
to  revive  me." 

"Of  course,  stay,"  said  the  girl  with  quick  sympathy. 
"We  can't  give  you  much,  but  we  can  give  you  some- 
thing." 

"Oh ho!" 

"O-h-o-o-o-h !  O-h-o-o-o-h !"  A  loud  call  came  from 
the  woods. 

"There's  Nora,"  said  Kathleen.  "O-o-o-o-o-h 
O-o-o-o-o-h !"  The  girl's  answering  call  was  like  the 
winding  of  a  silver  horn.  "Here  she  is." 

Out  from  the  woods,  striding  into  the  clearing,  came  a 
young  girl  dressed  in  workmanlike  garb  in  short  skirt, 
leggings  and  jersey,  with  a  soft  black  hat  on  the  black 


THE  GIRL  OF  THE  WOOD  LOT     99 

tumbled  locks.  "Hello,  Kathleen,  dinner  ready?  I'm 
famished.  Oh,  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  glad  to  see  you." 

"And  my  brother,  Nora,  Mr.  Jack  Romayne,  just  come 
from  England,  and  hungry  as  a  bear." 

"Just  from  England?  And  hungry?  Well,  we  are 
glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Romayne."  The  girl  came  forward 
with  a  quick  step  and  frankly  offered  her  brown,  strong 
hand.  "We're  awfully  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Romayne," 
she  repeated.  "I  ought  to  be  embarrassed,  I  know,  only 
I  am  so  hungry." 

"Just  my  fix,  Miss  Nora,"  said  the  young  man.  "I 
am  really  anxious  to  be  polite.  I  feel  we  should  decline 
the  invitation  to  dinner  which  your  sister  has  pressed 
upon  us;  we  know  it  is  a  shame  to  drop  in  on  you  like 
this  all  unprepared,  but  I  am  so  hungry,  and  really  that 
smell  is  so  irresistible  that  I  feel  I  simply  cannot  be 
polite." 

"Don't!"  cried  the  girl,  "or  rather,  do,  and  stay. 
There's  enough  of  something,  and  Joe  will  look  after  the 
horses."  She  put  her  hands  to  her  lips  and  called, 
"J-o-o-e!" 

A  voice  from  the  woods  answered  her,  followed  by 
Joe  himself.  "Here,  Joe,  take  the  horses  and  unsaddle 
them  and  tether  them  out  somewhere." 

Despite  Kathleen's  fears  there  was  dinner  enough  for 
all. 

"This  is  perfectly  stunning!"  said  Romayne,  glancing 
round  the  little  clearing  and  up  at  the  trees  waving  over- 
head, through  the  interstices  of  whose  leafy  canopy 
showed  patches  of  blue  sky.  "Gorgeous,  by  Jove! 
Words  are  futile  things  for  really  great  moments." 

"Ripping,"  said  Nora,  smiling  impudently  into  his 
face.  "Awfully  jolly!  A-i !  Top  hole!  That's  the 
lot,  I  think,  according  to  the  best  authorities.  Do  you 
know  any  others?" 

"I  beg  pardon,  what?"  said  Romayne,  looking  up  from 
his  fried  pork  and  potatoes. 

"Those  are  all  I  have  learned  in  English  at  least,"  said 


100  THE  MAJOR 

Nora.  "I  am  keen  for  some  more.  They  are  Oxford,  I 
believe.  Have  you  any  others?" 

Mr.  Romayne  diverted  his  attention  from  his  dinner. 
"What  is  she  talking  about,  Miss  Gwynne?  I  confess  to 
be  entirely  absorbed  in  these  fried  potatoes." 

"Words,  words,  Mr.  Romayne,  vocabulary,  adjec- 
tives," replied  Nora. 

"Ah,"  said  Romayne,  "but  why  should  one  worry 
about  words,  especially  adjectives,  when  one  has  such 
divine  realities  as  these  to  deal  with?" 

"Have  some  muffles,  Mr.  Romayne,"  said  Nora. 

"Muffles?     Now  what  may  muffles  be?" 

"Muffles  are  a  cross  between  muffins  and  waffles." 

"Please  elucidate  their  nature  and  origin,"  said  Mr. 
Romayne. 

"Let  me  show  you,"  said  Kathleen.  She  sprang  up, 
dived  into  the  cabin  and  returned  with  a  large,  round, 
hard  biscuit  in  her  hand.  "This  is  Hudson  Bay  hard  tack, 
the  stand-by  of  all  western  people — Hudson  Bay  freight- 
ers and  cowboys,  old  timers  and  tenderfeet  alike  swear 
by  it.  See,  you  moisten  it  slightly  in  water,  fry  it  in 
boiling  fat,  sugar  it  and  keep  hot  till  served.  Thus  Hud- 
son Bay  hard  tack  becomes  muffles." 

"Marvellous!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Romayne,  "and  truly 
delicious!  And  to  think  that  the  Savoy  chef  knows 
nothing  about  muffles !  But  now  that  my  first  faintness 
is  removed  and  the  mystery  of  muffles  is  solved,  may  I 
inquire  just  what  you  are  doing  up  here  to-day,  Miss 
Gwynne?  What  is  the  business  on  hand,  I  mean?" 

"Oh,  Nora  is  getting  out  some  logs  for  building  and 
firewood  for  next  winter.  The  logs,  you  see,  are  cut 
during  the  winter  and  hauled  to  the  dump  there." 

"Dump!"   exclaimed   Mr.    Romayne   faintly. 

"Yes.  The  bank  there  where  you  dump  the  logs  into 
the  creek  below." 

"But  what  exactly  has  Miss  Nora  to  do  with  all  this?" 

"I?"  enquired  Nora,  "I  only  boss  the  job." 

"Don't  you  believe  her,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt.     "I 


THE  GIRL  OF  THE  WOOD  LOT    101 

happen  to  remember  one  winter  day  coming  upon  this 
young  lady  in  these  very  woods  driving  her  team  and 
hauling  logs  to  the  dump  while  Sam  and  Joe  did  the  cut- 
ting. Ask  the  boys  there?  And  why  shouldn't  she?" 
continued  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt.  "She  can  run  a  farm, 
with  garden,  pigs  and  poultry  thrown  in;  open  a  coal 
mine  and " 

"Nonsense !"  exclaimed  Nora,  "the  boys  here  do  it  all. 
Mother  furnishes  the  head  work." 

"Oh,  Nora !"  protested  Kathleen,  "you  know  you  man- 
age everything.  Isn't  that  true,  boys?" 

"She's  the  hull  works  herself,"  said  Sam.  "Ain't 
she,  Joe?" 

"You  bet  yeh,"  said  Joe,  husky  with  the  muffles. 

"She's  a  corker,"  continued  Sam,  "double  compressed, 
compensating,  forty  horsepower,  ain't  she,  Joe?" 

"You  bet  yeh !"  adding,  for  purpose  of  emphasis,  "By 
gar!" 

"Six  cylinder,  self-starter,"  continued  Sam  with  in- 
creasing enthusiasm. 

"Self-starter,"  echoed  Joe,  going  off  into  a  series  of 
choking  chuckles.  "Sure  t'ing,  by  gar!"  Joe,  having 
safely  disposed  of  the  muffles,  gave  himself  up  to  unre- 
strained laughter,  throwing  back  his  head,  slapping  his 
knees  and  repeating  at  intervals,  "Self-starter,  by  gar!" 

So  infectious  was  his  laughter  that  the  whole  company 
joined  in. 

"Cut  it  out,  boys,"  said  Nora.  "You  are  all  talking 
rot,  you  know ;  and  what  about  you,"  she  added,  turning 
swiftly  upon  her  sister.  "Who  runs  the  house,  I'd  like 
to  know,  and  looks  after  everything  inside,  and  does  the 
sewing?  This  outfit  of  mine,  for  instance?  And  her 
own  outfit?" 

"Oh,  Nora,"  protested  Kathleen,  the  colour  rising  in 
her  face. 

"Did  you  make  your  own  costume?"  inquired  Mr. 
Romayne. 


102  THE  MAJOR 

"She  did  that,"  said  Nora,  "and  mine  and  mother's, 
and  she  makes  father's  working  shirts." 

"Oh,  Nora,  stop,  please.     You  know  I  do  very  little." 

"She  makes  the  butter  as  well." 

"They're  a  pair,"  said  Sam  in  a  low  growl,  but  per- 
fectly audible  to  the  company,  "a  regular  pair,  eh,  Joe?" 

"Sure  t'ing,"  replied  Joe,  threatening  to  go  off  again 
into  laughter,  but  held  in  check  by  a  glance  from  Nora. 

For  an  hour  they  lingered  over  the  meal.  Then  Nora, 
jumping  up  quickly,  took  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  with  her 
to  superintend  the  work  at  the  dump,  leaving  Mr.  Ro- 
mayne  reclining  on  the  grass  smoking  his  pipe  in  aban- 
doned content,  while  Kathleen  busied  herself  clearing 
away  and  washing  up  the  dishes. 

"May  I  help?"  inquired  Mr.  Romayne,  when  the  others 
had  gone. 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  Kathleen.  "Just  rest  where  you  are, 
please;  just  take  it  easy;  I'd  really  rather  you  would,  and 
there's  nothing  to  do/; 

"I  am  not  an  expert  at  this  sort  of  thing,"  said  Mr. 
Romayne,  "but  at  least  I  can  dry  dishes.  I  learned  that 
much  on  the  veldt." 

"In  South  Africa?  You  were  in  the  war?"  replied 
Kathleen,  giving  him  a  towel. 

"Yes,  I  had  a  go  at  it."  , 

"It  must  have  been  terrible — to  think  of  actually  kill- 
ing men." 

"It  is  not  pleasant,"  replied  Romayne,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  "but  it  has  to  be  done  sometimes." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?  It  does  not  seem  as  if  it 
should  be  necessary  at  any  time,"  said  the  girl  with  great 
earnestness.  "I  can't  believe  it  is  either  right  or  neces- 
sary ever  to  kill  men;  and  as  for  the  Boer  War,  don't 
you  think  everybody  agrees  now  that  it  was  unneces- 
sary?" 

Mr.  Romayne  was  always  prepared  to  defend  with  the 
ardour  of  a  British  soldier  the  righteousness  of  every 
war  in  which  the  British  Army  has  ever  been  engaged 


THE  GIRL  OF  THE  WOOD  LOT    103 

But  somehow  he  found  it  difficult  to  conduct  an  argu- 
ment in  favour  of  war  against  this  girl  who  stood  front- 
ing him  with  a  look  of  horror  in  her  face. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Romayne,  "I  believe  there  is  some- 
thing to  be  said  on  both  sides.  No  doubt  there  were 
blunders  in  the  early  part  of  the  trouble,  but  eventually 
war  had  to  come." 

"But  that's  just  it,"  cried  the  girl.  "Isn't  that  the  way 
it  is  always?  In  the  early  stages  of  a  quarrel  it  is  so 
easy  to  come  to  an  understanding  and  to  make  peace; 
but  after  the  quarrel  has  gone  on,  then  war  becomes 
inevitable.  If  only  every  dispute  could  be  submitted  to 
the  judgment  of  some  independent  tribunal.  Nations 
are  just  like  people.  They  see  things  solely  from  their 
own  point  of  view.  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Romayne,  there 
is  no  subject  upon  which  I  feel  so  keenly  as  upon  the 
subject  of  war.  I  just  loathe  and  hate  and  dread  the 
thought  of  war.  I  think  perhaps  I  inherit  this.  My 
mother,  you  know,  belongs  to  the  Friends,  and  she  sees 
so  clearly  the  wickedness  and  the  folly  of  war.  And 
don't  you  think  that  all  the  world  is  seeing  this  more 
clearly  to-day  than  ever  before?" 

There  was  nothing  new  in  this  argument  or  in  this 
position  to  Mr.  Romayne,  but  somehow,  as  he  looked  at 
the  girl's  eager,  enthusiastic  face,  and  heard  her  passion- 
ate denunciation  of  war,  he  found  it  difficult  to  defend 
the  justice  of  war  under  any  circumstances  whatever. 

"I  entirely  agree  with  you,  Miss  Gwynne,  that  war  is 
utterly  horrible,  that  it  is  silly,  that  it  is  wicked.  I 
would  rather  not  discuss  it  with  you,  but  I  can't  help 
feeling  that  there  are  circumstances  that  make  it  neces- 
sary and  right  for  men  to  fight." 

"You  don't  wish  to  discuss  this  with  me?"  said  Kath- 
leen. "I  am  sorry,  for  I  have  always  wished  to  hear  a 
soldier  who  is  also" — the  girl  hesitated  for  a  moment — 
"a  gentleman  and  a  Christian " 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Gwynne,"  said  Romayne,  with  quiet 
earnestness. 


104  THE  MAJOR 

"Discuss  the  reasons  why  war  is  ever  necessary." 

"It  is  a  very  big  subject,"  said  Mr.  Romayne,  "and 
some  day  I  should  like  to  give  you  my  point  of  view. 
There  are  multitudes  of  people  in  Britain  to-day,  Miss 
Gwynne,  who  would  agree  with  you.  Lots  of  books 
have  been  written  on  both  sides.  I  have  listened  to  hours 
and  hours  of  discussion,  so  that  you  can  easily  see  that 
there  is  much  to  be  said  on  both  sides.  I  always  come 
back,  however,  to  the  point  that  among  nations  of  similar 
ethica-  standards  and  who  are  equally  anxious  to  preserve 
the  peace  of  the  world,  arbitration  as  a  method  of  set- 
tling disputes  ought  to  be  perfectly  simple  and  easy.  It 
is  only  when  you  have  to  deal  with  nations  whose  stand- 
ards of  ethics  are  widely  dissimilar  or  who  are  possessed 
with  another  ambition  than  that  of  preserving  the  peace 
of  the  world  that  you  get  into  difficulty." 

"I  see  your  point,"  replied  Kathleen,  "but  I  also  see 
that  just  there  you  allow  for  all  sorts  of  prejudice  to 
enter  and  for  the  indulgence  in  unfair  argument  and 
special  pleading.  But  there,  we  are  finished,"  she  said, 
"and  you  do  not  wish  to  discuss  this  just  now." 

"Some  time,  Miss  Gwynne,  we  shall  have  this  out, 
and  I  have  some  literature  on  the  subject  that  I  should 
like  to  give  you." 

"And  so  have  I,"  cried  the  girl,  with  a  smile  that  ren- 
dered Mr.  Romayne  for  some  moments  quite  incapable  of 
consecutive  thought.  "And  now  shall  we  look  up  the 
others  ?" 

At  the  dump  they  found  Joe  and  Sam  rolling  the  logs, 
which  during  the  winter  had  been  piled  high  upon  the 
bank,  down  the  steep  declivity  or  "dump"  into  the  stream 
below.  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  and  Nora  were  seated  on 
a  log  beside  them  engaged  in  talk. 

"May  I  inquire  if  you  are  bossing  the  job  as  usual?" 
said  Mr.  Romayne,  after  he  had  watched  the  operation 
for  a  few  moments. 

"Oh,  no,  there's  no  bossing  going  on  to-day.     But*" 


THE  GIRL  OF  THE  WOOD  LOT     105 

said  the  girl,  "I  rather  think  the  boys  like  to  have  me 
around." 

"I  don't  wonder,"  said  Mr.  Romayne,  enthusiastically. 

"Are  you  making  fun  of  me,  Mr.  Romayne?"  said  the 
girl,  her  face  indicating  that  she  was  prepared  for  battle. 

"God  forbid,"  replied  Mr.  Romayne,  fervently. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  Nora  dear,"  said  his  sister.  "He  is 
simply  consumed  with  envy.  He  has  just  come  from  a 
country,  you  know,  where  only  the  men  do  things;  I 
mean  things  that  really  count.  And  it  makes  him  furi- 
ously jealous  to  see  a  young  woman  calmly  doing  things 
that  he  knows  quite  well  he  could  not  attempt  to  do." 

"Quite  true,"  replied  her  brother.  "I  am  humbled  to 
the  ground  at  my  own  all  to  obvious  ineptitude,  and 
am  lost  in  admiration  of  the  marvellous  efficiency  of  the 
young  ladies  of  Canada  whom  it  has  been  my  good  for- 
tune to  meet." 

Nora  glanced  at. him  suspiciously.  "You  talk  well," 
she  said.  "I  half  believe  you're  just  making  fun  of  us." 

"Not  a  bit,  Nora,  not  a  bit,"  said  his  sister.  "It  is 
as  I  have  said  before.  The  man  is  as  jealous  as  he  can 
be,  and,  like  all  men,  he  hates  to  discover  himself  inferior 
in  any  particular  to  a  woman.  But  we  must  be  going. 
I  am  so  glad  you  are  home  again,  dear,"  she  said,  turn- 
ing to  Kathleen.  "We  shall  hope  to  see  a  great  deal 
of  you.  Thank  you  for  the  delightful  lunch.  It  was 
so  good  of  you  to  have  us." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  added  the  young  man.  "You  saved 
my  life.  I  had  just  about  reached  the  final  stage  of  ex- 
haustion. I,  too,  hope  to  see  you  again  very  soon  and 
often,  for  you  know  we  must  finish  that  discussion  and 
settle  that  question." 

"What  question  is  that,"  inquired  his  sister,  "if  I  may 
ask?" 

"Oh,  the  old  question,"  said  her  brother,  "the  eternal 
question — war." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Nora,  "Kathleen  has  been  giving  you 
some  of  her  peace  talk.  I  want  you  to  know,  Mr.  Ro- 


106  THE  MAJOR 

mayne,  that  I  don't  agree  with  her  in  the  least,  and  I  am 
quite  sure  you  don't  either." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  replied  the  young  man. 
"We  have  not  finished  it  out  yet.  I  feel  confident,  how- 
ever, that  we  shall  come  to  an  agreement  on  it." 

"I  hope  not,"  replied  Nora,  ''for  in  that  case  you 
would  become  a  pacifist,  for  Kathleen,  just  like  mother, 
you  know,  is  a  terrible  peace  person.  Indeed,  our  fam- 
ily is  divided  on  that  question — Daddy  and  I  opposed  to 
the  rest.  And  you  know  p&  tifists  have  this  character- 
istic, that  they  are  always  ready  to  fight." 

"Yes,"  said  her  sister.  "We  are  always  ready  to  fight 
for  peace.  But  do  not  let  us  get  into  that  discussion 
now.  I  shall  walk  with  you  a  little  way." 

Arm  in  arm  she  and  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  walked  down 
the  steep  trail,  Mr.  Romayne  following  behind,  leading 
the  horses.  As  they  walked  together,  Mrs.  Waring- 
Gaunt  talked  to  the  girl  of  her  brother. 

"You  know  he  was  in  the  Diplomatic  Service,  went  in 
after  the  South  African  W'ar,  and  did  awfully  well  there 
in  the  reconstruction  work,  was  very  popular  with  the 
Boers,  though  he  had  fought  them  in  the  war.  He  got 
to  know  their  big  men,  and  some  of  them  are  really 
big  men.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  became  very  fond  of 
them  and  helped  the  Government  at  Home  to  see  things 
from  their  point  of  view.  After  that  he  went  to  the 
Continent,  was  in  Italy  for  a  while  and  then  in  Ger- 
many, where,  I  believe,  he  did  very  good  work.  He  saw 
a  good  deal  of  the  men  about  the  Kaiser.  He  loathed 
the  Crown  Prince,  I  believe,  as  most  of  our  people  there 
do.  Suddenly  he  was  recalled.  He  refused,  of  course, 
to  talk  about  it,  but  I  understand  there  was  some  sort 
of  a  row.  I  believe  he  lost  his  temper  with  some  ex- 
alted personage.  At  any  rate,  he  was  recalled,  chucked 
the  whole  service,  and  came  out  here.  He  felt  awfully 
cut  up  about  it.  And  now 'he  has  no  faith  in  the  Ger- 
man Government,  says  they  mean  war.  He's  awfully 
keen  on  preparation  and  that  sort  of  thing.  I  thought 


THE  GIRL  OF  THE  WOOD  LOT    107 

I  would  just  tell  you,  especially  since  I  heard  you  had 
been  discussing  war  with  him." 

As  they  neared  the  Switzer  place  they  saw  a  young 
man  standing  on  the  little  pier  which  jutted  out  into  the 
stream  with  a  pike-pole  in  his  hand,  keeping  the  logs 
from  jambing  at  the  turn. 

"It's  Ernest  Switzer,"  cried  Kathleen.  "I  have  not 
seen  him  for  ever  so  long.  How  splendidly  he  is  look- 
ing! Hello,  Ernest!"  she  cried,  waving  her  hand  and 
running  forward  to  meet  him,  followed  by  the  critical 
eyes  of  Jack  Romayne. 

The  young  man  came  hurrying  toward  her.  "Kath- 
leen!" he  cried.  "Is  it  really  you?"  He  threw  down 
his  pole  as  he  spoke  and  took  her  hand  in  both  of  his, 
the  flush  on  his  fair  face  spreading  to  the  roots  of  his 
hair. 

"You  know  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,"  said  Kathleen  to 
him,  for  he  paid  no  attention  at  all  to  the  others.  Mrs. 
Waring-Gaunt  acknowledged  Switzer's  heel  clicks,  as 
also  did  her  brother  when  introduced. 

"You  have  been  keeping  the  logs  running,  Ernest,  I 
see.  That  is  very  good  of  you,"  said  Kathleen. 

"Yes,  there  was  the  beginning  of  a  nice  little  jamb 
here,"  said  Switzer.  "They  are  running  right  enough 
now.  But  when  did  you  return?"  he  continued,  drop- 
ping into  a  confidential  tone  and  turning  his  back  upon 
the  others.  "Do  you  know  I  have  not  seen  you  for 
nine  months?" 

"Nine  months?"  said  Kathleen.  "I  was  away  seven 
months." 

"Yes,  but  I  was  away  two  months  before  you  went. 
You  forget  that,"  he  added  reproachfully.  "But  I  do 
not  forget.  Nine  months — nine  long  months.  And  are 
you  glad  to  be  back,  Kathleen,  glad  to  see  all  your  friends 
again,  glad  to  see  me?" 

"I  am  glad  to  be  at  home,  Ernest,  glad  to  see  all  of 
my  friends,  of  course,  glad  to  get  to  the  West  again,  to 
the  woods  here  and  the  mountains  and  all." 


108  THE  MAJOR 

"And  you  did  not  come  in  to  see  us  as  you  passed," 
gazing  at  her  with  reproachful  eyes  and  edging  her  still 
further  away  from  the  others. 

"Oh,  we  intended  to  come  in  on  our  way  back." 

"Let's  move  on,"  said  Romayne  to  his  sister. 

"We  must  be  going,  Kathleen  dear,"  said  Mrs.  War- 
ing-Gaunt.  "You  will  soon  be  coming  to  see  us?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  you  may  be  sure.  It  is  so  good  to  see 
you,"  replied  the  girl  warmly,  as  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt 
kissed  her  good-bye.  "Good-bye,  Mr.  Romayne;  we 
must  finish  our  discussion  another  time." 

"Always  at  your  service,"  replied  Mr.  Romayne,  "al- 
though I  am  rather  afraid  of  you.  Thank  you  again  for 
your  hospitality.  Good-bye."  He  held  her  hand,  look- 
ing down  into  the  blue  depths  of  her  eyes  until  as  before 
the  crimson  in  her  face  recalled  him.  "Good-bye.  This 
has  been  a  wonderful  day  to  me."  He  mounted  his 
horse,  .lifted  his  hat,  and  rode  off  after  his  sister. 

"What  sort  of  a  chap  is  the  Johnnie?"  said  Jack  to 
his  sister  as  they  rode  away. 

"Not  a  bad  sort  at  all;  very  bright  fellow,  quite  pop- 
ular in  this  community  with  the  young  fellows.  He  has 
lots  of  money,  you  know,  and  spends  it.  Of  course,  he 
is  fearfully  German,  military  style  and  all  that." 

"Seems  to  own  that  girl,  eh?"  said  Jack,  glancing  back 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  pair. 

"Oh,  the  two  families  are  quite  intimate.  Ernest  and 
his  sister  were  in  Larry's  musical  organisations  and  they 
are  quite  good  friends." 

"By  Jove,  Sybil,  she  is  wonderful!  Why  didn't  you 
give  me  a  hint?" 

"I  did.  But  really,  she  has  come  on  amazingly.  That 
college  in  Winnipeg ' 

"Oh,  college!  It  is  not  a  question  of  college!"  said 
her  brother  impatiently.  "It's  herself.  Why,  Sybil, 
think  of  that  girl  in  London  in  a  Worth  frock.  But  no ! 
That  would  spoil  her.  She  is  better  just  as  she  is.  Jove, 


THE  GIRL  OF  THE  WOOD  LOT     109 

she  completely  knocked  me  out!  I  made  a  fool  of  my- 
self." 

"She  has  changed  indeed,"  said  his  sister.  "She  is 
a  lovely  girl  and  so  simple  and  unaffected.  I  have  corne 
really  to  love  her.  We  must  see  a  lot  of  her." 

"But  where  did  she  get  that  perfectly  charming  man- 
ner? Do  you  realise  what  a  perfectly  stunning  girl  she 
is?  Where  did  she  get  that  style  of  hers?" 

"You  must  see  her  mother,  Jack.  She  is  a  charming 
woman,  simple,  quiet,  a  Quaker,  I  believe,  but  quite  beau- 
tiful manners.  Her  father,  too,  is  a  gentleman,  a  Trin- 
ity man,  I  understand." 

"Well,"  said  her  brother  with  a  laugh,  "'I  foresee  my- 
self falling  in  love  with  that  girl  in  the  most  approved 
style." 

"You  might  do  worse,"  replied  his  sister,  "though  I 
doubt  if  you  are  not  too  late." 

"Why?     That  German  Johnnie?" 

"Well,  it  is  never  wise  to  despise  the  enemy.  He 
really  is  a  fine  chap,  his  prospects  are  very  good ;  he  has 
known  her  for  a  long  while,  and  he  is  quite  mad  about 
her." 

"But,  good  Lord,  Sybil,  he's  a  German!" 

"A  German,"  said  his  sister,  "yes.  But  what  differ- 
ence does  that  make?  He  is  a  German,  but  he  is  also 
a  Canadian.  We  are  all  Canadians  here  whatever  else 
we  may  be  or  have  ever  been.  We  are  all  sorts  and 
classes,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  and  of  all  nationali- 
ties— Germans,  French,  Swedes,  Galicians,  Russians — 
but  we  all  shake  down  into  good  Canadian  citizens.  We 
are  just  Canadians,  and  that  is  good  enough  for  me. 
We  are  loyal  to  Canada  first." 

"You  may  be  right  as  far  as  other  nationalities  are  con- 
cerned, but,  Sybil,  believe  me,  you  do  not  know  the  Ger- 
man. I  know  him  and  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  Ger- 
man loyal  to  Canada  first." 

"But,  Jack,  you  are  so  terribly  insular.  You  must 
really  get  rid  of  all  that.  I  used  to  think  like  you,  but 


110  THE  MAJOR 

here  we  have  got  to  the  place  where  we  can  laugh  at  all 
that  sort  of  thing." 

"I  know,  Sybil.  I  know.  They  are  laughing  in  Eng- 
land to-day  at  Roberts  and  Charlie  Beresford.  But  I 
know  Germany  and  the  German  mind  and  the  German 
aim  and  purpose,  and  I  confess  to  you  that  I  am  in  a  hor- 
rible funk  at  the  state  of  things  in  our  country.  And  this 
chap  Switzer — you  say  he  has  been  in  Germany  for  two 
years?  Well,  he  has  every  mark  characteristic  of  the 
German.  He  reproduces  the  young  German  that  I  have 
seen  the  world  over — in  Germany,  in  the  Crown  Prince's 
coterie  (don't  I  know  them?),  in  South  Africa,  in  West 
Africa,  in  China.  He  has  every  mark,  the  same  mili- 
tary style,  the  same  arrogant  self-assertion,  the  same 
brutal  disregard  of  the  ordinary  decencies." 

"Why,  Jack,  how  you  talk!  You  are  actually  excited." 

"Did  you  not  notice  his  manner  with  that  girl?  He 
calmly  took  possession  "of  her  and  ignored  us  who  were 
of  her  party,  actually  isolated  her  from  us." 

"But,  Jack,  this  seems  to  me  quite  outrageous." 

"Yes,  Sybil,  and  there  are  more  like  you.  But  I 
happen  to  know  from  experience  what  I  am  talking 
about.  The  elementary  governing  principle  of  life  for 
the  young  German  of  to-day  is  very  simple  and  is  easily 
recognised,  and  it  is  this :  when  you  see  anything  you 
want,  go  for  it  and  take  it,  no  matter  if  all  the  decencies 
of  life  are  outraged." 

"Jack,  I  cannot,  frankly,  I  cannot  agree  with  you  in 
regard  t  young  Switzer.  I  know  him  fairly  well 
and ' 

"Let's  not  talk  about  it,  Sybil,"  said  her  brother, 
quietly. 

"Oh,  all  right,  Jack." 

They  rode  on  in  silence,  Romayne  gloomily  keeping  his 
eye  on  the  trail  before  him  until  they  neared  the  Gwynne 
gate,  when  the  young  man  exclaimed  abruptly: 

"My  God,  it  would  be  a  crime!" 

"Whatever  do  you  mean,  Jack ?" 


THE  GIRL  OF  THE  WOOD  LOT     111 

"To  allow  that  brute  to  get  possession  of  that  lovely 
girl." 

"But,  Jack,"  persisted  his  sister.     "Brute?" 

"Sybil,  I  have  seen  them  with  women,  their  own  and 
other  women;  and,  now  listen  to  me,  I  have  yet  to  see 
the  German  who  regards  or  treats  his  frau  as  an  English 
gentleman  treats  his  wife.  That  is  putting  it  mildly." 

"Oh,  Jack!" 

"It  ought  to  be  stopped." 

"Well,  stop  it  then." 

"I  wish  to  God  I  could,"  said  her  brother. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

YOU    FORGOT    ME 

THE  Lakeside  House,  substantially  built  of  logs,  with 
"frame"  kitchen  attached,  stood  cosily  among  the 
clump  of  trees,  poplar  and  spruce,  locally  described  as  a 
bluff.  The  bluff  ran  down  to  the  little  lake  a  hundred 
yards  away,  itself  an  expansion  of  Wolf  Willow  Creek. 
The  whitewashed  walls  gleaming  through  its  festoons  of 
Virginia  creeper,  a  little  lawn  bordered  with  beds  filled 
with  hollyhocks,  larkspur,  sweet-william  and  other  old- 
fashioned  flowers  and  flanked  by  a  heavy  border  of  gor- 
geous towering  sunflowers,  gave  a  general  air,  not  only 
of  comfort  and  thrift,  but  of  refinement  as  well,  too  sel- 
dom found  in  connection  with  the  raw  homesteads  of  the 
new  western  country. 

At  a  little  distance  from  the  house,  at  the  end  of  a  lane 
leading  through  the  bluff,  were  visible  the  stables,  gran- 
ary and  other  outhouses,  with  corral  attached. 

Within,  the  house  fulfilled  the  promise  of  its  external 
appearance  and  surroundings.  There  was  dignity  with- 
out stiffness,  comfort  without  luxury,  simplicity  without 
any  suggestion  of  the  poverty  that  painfully  obtrudes 
itself. 

At  the  open  window  whose  vine  shade  at  once  softened 
the  light  and  invited  the  summer  airs,  sat  Mrs.  Gwynne, 
with  her  basket  of  mending  at  her  side.  Eight  years  of 
life  on  an  Alberta  ranch  had  set  their  mark  upon  her.  The 
summers'  suns  and  winters'  frosts  and  the  eternal  sum- 
mer and  winter  winds  had  burned  and  browned  the  soft, 
fair  skin  of  her  earlier  days.  The  anxieties  inevitable  to 
the  struggle  with  poverty  had  lined  her  face  and  whit- 

112 


YOU  FORGOT  ME  113 

ened  her  hair.  But  her  eyes  shone  still  with  the  serene 
light  of  a  soul  that  carries  within  it  the  secret  of  triumph 
over  the  carking  cares  of  life. 

Seated  beside  her  was  her  eldest  daughter  Kathleen, 
sewing;  and  stretched  upon  the  floor  lay  Nora,  frankly 
idle  and  half  asleep,  listening  to  the  talk  of  the  other 
two.  Their  talk  turned  upon  the  theme  never  long  ab- 
sent from  their  thought — that  of  ways  and  means. 

"Tell  you  what,  Mummie,"  droned  Nora,  lazily  ex- 
tending her  lithe  young  body  to  its  utmost  limits,  "there 
is  a  simple  way  out  of  our  never  ending  worries,  namely, 
a  man,  a  rich  man,  if  handsome,  so  much  the  better,  but 
rich  he  must  be,  for  Kathleen.  They  say  they  are  hang- 
ing round  the  Gateway  City  of  the  West  in  bunches. 
How  about  it,  Kate?" 

"My  dear  Nora,"  gently  chided  her  mother,  "I  wish 
you  would  not  talk  in  that  way.  It  is  not  quite  nice.  In 
my  young  days " 

"In  your  young  days  I  know  just  exactly  what  hap- 
pened, Mother.  There  was  always  a  long  queue  of  eligi- 
ble young  men  dangling  after  the  awfully  lovely  young 
Miss  Meredith,  and  before  she  was  well  out  of  her  teens 
the  gallant  young  Gwynne  carried  her  off." 

"We  never  talked  about  those  things,  my  dear,"  said 
her  mother,  shaking  her  head  at  her. 

"You  didn't  need  to,  Mother." 

"Well,  if  it  comes  to  that,  Nora,"  said  her  sister,  "I 
don't  think  you  need  to,  very  much,  either.  You  have 
only  got  to  look  at " 

"Halt!"  cried  Nora,  springing  to  her  feet.  "But  seri- 
ously, Mother  dear,  I  think  we  can  weather  this  winter 
right  enough.  Our  food  supply  is  practically  visible. 
We  have  oats  enough  for  man  and  beast,  ,*  couple  of  pigs 
to  kill,  a  steer  also,  not  to  speak  of  chickens  and  ducks. 
We  shall  have  some  cattle  to  sell,  and  if  our  crops  are 
good  we  ought  to  be  able  to  pay  off  those  notes.  Oh, 
why  will  Dad  buy  machinery?" 

"My  dear,"  said  her  mother  with  gentle  reproach, 


114  THE  MAJOR 

"your  father  says  machinery  is  cheaper  than  men  and  we 
really  cannot  do  without  machines." 

"That's  all  right,  Mother.  I'm  not  criticising  father. 
He  is  a  perfect  dear  and  I  am  awfully  glad  he  has  got 
that  Inspectorship." 

"Yes,"  replied  her  mother,  "your  father  is  suited  to  his 
new  work  and  likes  it.  And  Larry  will  be  finishing  his 
college  this  year,  I  think.  And  he  has  earned  it  too," 
continued  the  mother.  "When  I  think  of  all  he  has  done 
and  how  generously  he  has  turned  his  salary  into  the  fam- 
ily fund,  and  how  often  he  has  been  disappointed " 

Here  her  voice  trembled  a  little. 

Nora  dropped  quickly  to  her  knees,  taking  her  mother 
in  her  arms.  "Don't  we  all  know,  Mother,  what  he  has 
done?  Shall  I  ever  forget  those  first  two  awful  years, 
the  winter  mornings  when  he  had  to  get  up  before  day- 
light to  get  the  house  warm,  and  that  awful  school. 
Every  day  he  had  to  face  it,  rain,  sleet,  or  forty  below. 
How_often  I  have  watched  him  in  the  school,  always  so 
white  and  tired.  But  he  never  gave  up.  He  just  would 
not  give  up.  And  when  those  big  boys  were  unruly — 
I  could  have  killed  those  boys — he  would  always  keep 
his  temper  and  joke  and  jolly  them  into  good  order.  And 
all  the  time  I  knew  how  terribly  his  head  was  aching. 
What  are  you  sniffling  about,  Kate?" 

"I  think  it  was  splendid,  just  splendid,  Nora,"  cried 
Kathleen,  swiftly  wiping  away  her  tears.  "But  I  can't 
help  crying,  it  was  all  so  terrible.  He  never  thought  of 
himself,  and  year  after  year  he  gave  up  his  money " 

"Hello!"  cried  a  voice  at  the  door.  "Who  gave  up 
his  money  and  to  whom  and  is  there  any  more  around?" 
His  eye  glanced  around  the  group.  "What's  up,  people  ? 
Mnmmie,  are  these  girls  behaving  badly?  Lee  me  catch 
them  at  it !"  The  youth  stood  smiling  down  upon  them. 
His  years  in  the  West  had  done  much  for  him.  He  was 
still  slight,  but  though  his  face  was  pale  and  his  body 
thin,  his  movements  suggested  muscular  strength  and 
sound  health.  He  had  not  grown  handsome.  His  fea- 


YOU  FORGOT  ME  115 

tures  were  irregular,  mouth  wide,  cheek  bones  prominent, 
ears  large ;  yet  withal  there  was  a  singular  attractiveness 
about  his  appearance  and  manner.  His  eyes  were  good; 
grey-blue,  humorous,  straight-looking  eyes  they  were, 
deep  set  under  overhanging  brows,  and  with  a  whimsical 
humour  ever  lingering  about  them ;  over  the  eyes  a  fore- 
head, broad,  suggesting  intellect,  and  set  off  by  heavy, 
waving,  dark  hair. 

"Who  gave  his  money?  I  insist  upon  knowing.  No 
reply,  eh?  I  have  evidently  come  upon  a  deep  and 
deadly  plot  Mother? — no  use  asking  you.  Kathleen, 
out  with  it." 

"You  gave  your  money,"  burst  forth  Nora  in  a  kind  of 
passion  as  she  flew  at  him,  "and  everything  else.  But 
now  that's  all  over.  You  are  going  to  finish  your  college 
course  this  year,  that's  what." 

"Oh,  that's  it,  eh?  I  knew  there  was  some  women's 
scheme  afloat.  Well,  children,"  said  the  youth,  waving 
his  hand  over  them  in  paternal  benediction,  "since  this 
thing  is  up  we  might  as  well  settle  it  'right  here  and 
n-a-o-w,'  as  our  American  friend,  Mr.  Ralph  Waldo  Far- 
well,  would  say,  and  a  decent  sort  he  is  too.  I  have 
thought  this  all  out.  Why  should  not  a  man  gifted  with 
a  truly  great  brain  replete  with  grey  matter  (again  in 
the  style  of  the  aforesaid  Farwell)  do  the  thinking  for 
his  wimmin  folk?  Why  not?  Hence  the  problem  is 
already  solved.  The  result  is  hereby  submitted,  not  for 
discussion  but  for  acceptance,  for  acceptance  you  under- 
stand, to-wit  and  namely,  as  Dad's  J.  P.  law  books  have 
it:  I  shall  continue  the  school  another  year." 

"You  shan't,"  shouted  Nora,  seizing  him  by  the  arm 
and  shaking  him  with  all  the  strength  of  her  vigorous 
young  body. 

"Larry,  dear!"  said  his  mother. 

"Oh,  Larry!"  exclaimed  Kathleen. 

"We  shall  then  be  able  to  pay  off  all  our  indebtedness," 
continued  Larry,  ignoring  their  protests,  "and  that  is  a 
most  important  achievement.  This  new  job  of  Dad's 


116  THE  MAJOR 

means  an  addition  to  our  income.  The  farm  manage- 
ment will  remain  in  the  present  capable  hands.  No, 
Miss  Nora,  I  am  not  thinking  of  the  boss,  but  of  the 
head,  the  general  manager."  He  waved  his  hand  toward 
his  mother.  "The  only  change  will  be  in  the  foreman. 
A  new  appointment  will  be  made,  one  who  will  bring  to 
her  task  not  only  experience  and  with  it  a  practical 
knowledge,  but  the  advantage  of  intellectual  discipline 
recently  acquired  at  a  famous  educational  centre;  and  the 
whole  concern  will  go  on  with  its  usual  verve,  swing, 
snap,  toward  another  year's  success.  Then  next  year  me 
for  the  giddy  lights  of  the  metropolitan  city  and  the  sa- 
cred halls  of  learning." 

"And  me,"  said  Nora,  "what  does  your  high  mighti- 
ness plan  for  me  this  winter,  pray?" 

"Not  quite  so  much  truculence,  young  lady,"  replied 
her  brother.  "For  you,  the  wide,  wide  world,  a  visit 
to  the  seat  of  light  and  learning  already  referred  to, 
namely,  Winnipeg." 

For  one  single  moment  Nora  looked  at  him.  Then, 
throwing  back  her  head,  she  said  with  unsteady  voice: 
"Not  this  time,  old  boy.  One  man  can  lead  a  horse  to 
water  but  ten  cannot  make  him  drink,  and  you  may  as 
well  understand  now  as  later  that  this  continual  post- 
ponement of  your  college  career  is  about  to  cease.  We 
have  settled  it  otherwise.  Kathleen  will  take  your 
school — an  awful  drop  for  the  kids,  but  what  joy  for  the 
big  boys.  She  and  I  will  read  together  in  the  evenings. 
The  farm  will  go  on.  Sam  and  Joe  are  really  very  good 
and  steady;  Joe  at  least,  and  Sam  most  of  the  time. 
Dad's  new  work  will  not  take  him  from  home  so  much,  he 
says.  And  next  year  me  for  the  fine  arts  and  the  white 
lights  of  Winnipeg.  That's  all  that  needs  to  be  said.'' 

"I  think,  dear,"  said  the  mother,  looking  at  her  son, 
"Nora  is  right." 

"Now,  Mother,"  exclaimed  Larry,  "I  don't  like  to 
hear  your  foot  come  down  just  yet.  I  know  that  tone  of 
finality,  but  listen " 


YOU  FORGOT  ME  117 

"We  have  listened,"  said  Kathleen,  "and  we  know  we 
are  right.  I  shall  take  the  school,  Mr.  Farweil " 

"Mr.  Farweil,  eh? "  exclaimed  Nora  significantly. 

"Mr.  Farweil  has  promised  me,"  continued  Kathleen, 
"indeed  has  offered  me,  the  school.  Nora  and  I  can 
study  together.  I  shall  keep  up  my  music.  Nora  will 
keep  things  going  outside,  mother  will  look  after  every" 
thing  as  usual,  Dad  will  help  us  outside  and  in.  So  that's 
settled." 

"Settled!"  cried  her  brother.  "You  are  all  terribly 
settling.  It  seems  to  me  that  you  apparently  forget " 

Once  more  the  mother  interposed.  "Larry,  dear, 
Kathleen  has  put  it  very  well.  Your  father  and  I  have 
talked  it  over" — the  young  people  glanced  at  each 
other  and  smiled  at  this  ancient  and  well-worn  phrase — 
"we  have  agreed  that  it  is  better  that  you  should  finish 
your  college  this  winter.  Of  course  we  know  you  would 
suggest  delay,  but  we  are  anxious  that  you  should  com- 
plete your  course." 

"But,  Mother,  listen "  began  Larry. 

"Nonsense,  Larry,  'children,  obey  your  parents'  is  still 
valid,"  said  Nora.  "What  are  you  but  a  child  after  all, 
though  with  your  teaching  and  your  choral  society  con- 
ducting, and  your  nigger  show  business,  and  your  preach- 
ing in  the  church,  and  your  popularity,  you  are  getting  so 
uplifted  that  there's  no  holding  you.  Just  make  up  your 
mind  to  do  your  duty,  do  you  hear?  Your  duty.  Give 
up  this  selfish  determination  to  have  your  own  way,  this 
selfish  pleasing  of  yourself."  Abruptly  she  paused, 
rushed  at  him,  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and 
kissed  him.  "You  darling  old  humbug,"  she  said  with 
a  very  unsteady  voice.  "There,  I  will  be  blubbering  in 
a  minute.  I  am  off  for  the  timber  lot.  What  do  you 
say,  Katty?  It's  cooler  now.  We'll  go  up  the  cool 
road.  Are  you  coming?" 

"Yes;  wait  until  I  change." 

"All  right,  I  will  saddle  up.     You  coming,  Larry?" 

"No*  I'll  catch  up  later." 


118  THE  MAJOR 

"Now,  Mother,"  warned  Nora,  "I  know  his  ways  and 
wiles.  Remember  your  duty  to  your  children.  You 
are  also  inclined  to  be  horribly  selfish.  Be  firm.  Hurry 
up,  Kate." 

Left  alone  with  his  mother,  Larry  went  deliberately 
to  work  with  her.  Well  he  knew  the  immovable  quality 
of  her  resolution  when  once  her  mind  was  made  up. 
Patiently,  quietly,  steadily,  he  argued  with  her,  urging 
Nora's  claims  for  a  year  at  college. 

"She  needs  a  change  after  her  years  of  hard  work." 

Her  education  was  incomplete;  the  ground  work  was 
sound  enough,  but  she  had  come  to  the  age  when  she 
must  have  those  finishing  touches  that  girls  require  to 
fit  them  for  their  place  in  life.  "She  is  a  splendid  girl, 
but  in  some  ways  still  a  child  needing  discipline ;  in  other 
ways  mature,  too  mature.  She  ought  to  have  her  chance 
and  ought  to  have  it  now."  One  never  knew  what  would 
happen  in  the  case  of  girls. 

PI  is  mother  sighed.  "Poor  Nora,  she  has  had  disci- 
pline enough  of  a  kind,  and  hard  discipline  it  has  been 
indeed  for  you  all." 

"Nonsense,  Mother,  we  have  had  a  perfectly  fine  time 
together,  all  of  us.  God  knows  if  any  one  has  had  a 
hard  time  it  is  not  the  children  in  this  home.  I  do  not 
like  to  think  of  those  awful  winters,  Mother,  and  of  the 
hard  time  you  had  with  us  all." 

"A  hard  time!"  exclaimed  his  mother.  "I,  a  hard 
time,  and  with  you  all  here  beside  me,  and  all  so  well 
and  strong?  What  more  could  I  want?"  The  amazed 
surprise  in  her  face  stirred  in  her  son  a  quick  rush  of 
emotion. 

"Oh,  Mother,  Mother,  Mother,"  he  whispered  in  her 
ear.  "There  is  no  one  like  you.  Did  you  ever  in  all 
your  life  seek  one  thing  for  yourself,  one  thing,  one  little 
thing?  Away  back  there  in  Ontario  you  slaved  and 
slaved  and  went  without  things  yourself  that  all  the  rest 
of  us  might  get  them.  Here  it  has  been  just  the  same. 
Haven't  I  seen  your  face  and  your  hands,  your  poor 


YOU  FORGOT  ME  119 

hands" — here  the  boy's  voice  broke  with  an  indignant 
passion — "blue  with  the  cold  when  you  could  not  get  furs 
to  protect  them?  Never,  never  shall  I  forget  those 
days."  The  boy  stopped  abruptly,  unable  to  go  on. 

Quickly  the  mother  drew  her  son  toward  her.  "Larry, 
my  son,  my  son,  you  must  never  think  that  a  hard  time. 
Did  ever  a  woman  na  /e  such  joy  as  I  ?  When  I  think  of 
other  mothers  and  of  other  children,  and  then  think  of 
you  all  here,  I  thank  God  every  day  and  many  times  a 
day  that  he  has  given  us  each  other.  And,  Larry,  my 
son,  let  me  say  this,  and  you  will  remember  it  after- 
wards. You  have  been  a  continual  joy  to  me,  always, 
always.  You  have  never  given  me  a  moment's  anxiety 
or  pain.  Remember  that.  I  continually  thank  God  for 
you.  You  have  made  my  life  very  happy." 

The  boy  put  his  face  down  on  her  lap  with  his  arms 
tight  around  her  waist.  Never  in  their  life  together  had 
they  been  able  to  open  these  deep,  sacred  chambers  in 
their  souls  to  each  other's  gaze.  For  some  moments  he 
remained  thus,  then  lifting  up  his  face,  he  kissed  her 
again  and  again,  her  forehead,  her  eyes,  her  lips.  Then 
rising  to  his  feet,  he  stood  with  his  usual  smile  about  his 
lips.  "You  always  beat  me.  But  will  you  not  think  this 
all  over  again  carefully,  and  we  will  do  what  you  say? 
But  will  you  promise,  Mother,  to  think  it  over  again  and 
look  at  my  side  of  it  too?" 

"Yes,  Larry,  I  promise,"  said  his  mother.  "Now  run 
after  the  girls,  and  I  shall  have  tea  ready  for  you." 

As  Larry  rode  down  the  lane  he  saw  the  young  Ger- 
man, Ernest  Switzer,  and  his  sister  riding  down  the 
trail  and  gave  them  a  call.  They  pulled  up  and  waited. 

"Hello,  Ernest;  whither  bound?  How  are  you,  Dor- 
othea?" 

"Home,"  said  the  young  man,  "and  you?" 

"Going  up  by  the  timber  lot,  around  by  the  cool  road. 
The  girls  are  on  before." 

"Ah,  so?"  said  the  young  man,  evidently  waiting  for 
an  invitation. 


120  THE  MAJOR 

"Do  you  care  to  come?  It's  not  much  longer  ti^. 
way,"  said  Larry. 

"I  might,"  said  the  young  man.  Then  looking  doubt- 
fully at  his  sister,  "You  cannot  come  very  well,  Doro- 
thea, can  you?" 

"No,  that  is,  I'm  afraid  not,"  she  replied.  She  was 
a  pretty  girl  with  masses  of  yellov/  kair,  light  blue  eyes, 
a  plump,  kindly  face  and  a  timid  manner.  As  she  spoke 
she,  true  to  her  German  training,  evidently  waited  for  an 
indication  of  her  brother's  desire. 

"There  are  the  cows,  you  know,"  continued  her  brother. 

"Yes,  there  are  the  cows,"  her  face  clouding  as  she 
spoke. 

"Oh,  rot!"  said  Larry,  "you  don't  milk  until  evening, 
and  we  get  back  before  tea.  Come  along." 

Still  the  girl  hesitated.  "Well,"  said  her  brother 
brusquely,  "do  you  want  to  come?" 

She  glanced  timidly  at  his  rather  set  face  and  then 
at  Larry.  "I  don't  know.  I  am  afraid  that " 

"Oh,  come  along,  Dorothea,  do  you  hear  me  telling 
you?  You  will  be  in  plenty  of  time  and  your  brother 
will  help  you  with  the  milking." 

"Ernest  help!     Oh,  no!" 

"Not  on  your  life!"  said  that  young  man.  "I  never 
milk.  I  haven't  for  years.  Well,  come  along  then,"  he 
added  in  a  grudging  voice. 

"That  is  fine,"  said  Larry.  "But,  Dorothea,  you  ought 
to  make  him  learn  to  milk.  Why  shouldn't  he?  The 
lazy  beggar.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  he  never  helps 
with  the  milking?" 

"Oh,  never,"  said  Dorothea. 

"Our  men  don't  do  women's  work,"  said  Ernest.  "It  is 
not  the  German  way.  It  is  not  fitting." 

"And  what  about  women  doing  men's  work?"  said 
Larry.  "It  seems  to  me  I  have  seen  German  women  at 
work  in  the  fields  up  in  the  Settlement." 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  have,"  replied  Ernest  stiffly.  "It 
is  the  German  custom." 


YOU  FORGOT  ME  121 

"You  make  me  tired,"  said  Larry,  "the  German  cus- 
tom indeed !  Does  that  make  it  right  ?" 

"For  us,  yes,"  replied  Ernest  calmly. 

"But  you  are  Canadians,  are  you  not?  Are  there  to 
be  different  standards  in  Canada  for  different  nationali- 
ties?" 

"Oh,  the  Germans  will  follow  the  German  way.  Be- 
cause it  is  German,  and  demonstrated  through  experience 
to  be  the  best.  Look  at  our  people.  Look  at  our  pros- 
perity at  home,  at  our  growth  in  population,  at  our 
wealth,  at  our  expansion  in  industry  and  commerce 
abroad.  Look  at  our  social  conditions  and  compare  them 
with  those  in  this  country  or  in  any  other  country  in  the 
world.  Who  will  dare  to  say  that  German  methods  and 
German  customs  are  not  best,  at  least  for  Germans? 
But  let  us  move  a  little  faster,  otherwise  we  shall  never 
catch  up  with  them."  He  touched  his  splendid  broncho 
into  a  sharp  gallop,  the  other  horses  following  more 
slowly  behind. 

"He  is  very  German,  my  brother,"  said  Dorothea. 
"He  thinks  he  is  Canadian,  but  he  is  not  the  same  since 
he  went  over  Home.  He  is  talking  all  the  time  about 
Germany,  Germany,  Germany.  I  hate  it."  Her  blue 
eyes  flashed  fire  and  her  usually  timid  voice  vibrated  with 
an  intense  feeling.  Larry  gazed  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"You  may  look  at  me,  Larry,"  she  cried.  "I  am  Ger- 
man but  I  do  not  like  the  German  ways.  I  like  the  Ca- 
nadian ways.  The  Germans  treat  their  women  like  their 
cows.  They  feed  them  well,  they  keep  them  warm  be- 
cause— because — they  have  calves — I  mean  the  cows — 
and  the  women  have  kids.  I  hate  the  German  ways. 
Look  at  my  mother.  What  is  she  in  that  house?  Day 
and  night  she  has  worked,  day  and  night,  saving  money 
— and  what  for?  For  Ernest.  Running  to  wait  on  him 
and  on  Father  and  they  never  know  it.  It's  women's 
work  with  us  to  wait  on  men,  and  that  is  the  way  in 
the  Settlement  up  there.  Look  at  your  mother  and  you. 
Mein  Gott !  I  could  kill  them,  those  men !" 


122  THE  MAJOR 

"Why,  Dorothea,  you  amaze  me.  What's  up  with 
you?  I  never  heard  you  talk  like  this.  I  never  knew 
that  you  felt  like  this." 

"No,  how  could  you  know?  Who  would  tell  you? 
Not  Ernest,"  she  replied  bitterly. 

"But,  Dorothea,  you  are  happy,  are  you  not?" 

"Happy,  I  was  until  I  knew  better,  till  two  years  ago 
when  1  saw  your  mother  and  you  with  her.  Then 
Ernest  came  back  thinking  himself  a  German  officer — 
he  is  an  officer,  you  know — and  the  way  he  treated  our 
mother  and  me!" 

"Treated  your  mother!  Surely  he  is  not  unkind  to 
your  mother?"  Larry  had  a  vision  of  a  meek,  round- 
faced,  kindly,  contented  woman,  who  was  obviously 
proud  of  her  only  son. 

"Kind,  kind,"  cried  Dorothea,  "he  is  kind  as  German 
sons  are  kind.  But  you  cannot  understand.  Why  did 
I  speak  to  you  of  this?  Yes,  I  will  tell  you  why,"  she 
added,  apparently  taking  a  sudden  resolve.  "Let's  go 
slowly.  Ernest  is  gone  anyway.  I  will  tell  you  why. 
Before  Ernest  went  away  he  was  more  like  a  Canadian 
boy.  He  was  good  to  his  mother.  He  is  good  enough 
still  but — oh,  it  is  so  hard  to  show  you.  I  have  seen 
you  and  your  mother.  You  would  not  let  your  mother 
brush  your  boots  for  you,  you  would  not  sit  smoking  and 
let  her  carry  in  wood  in  the  winter  time,  you  would  not 
stand  leaning  over  the  fence  and  watch  your  mother  milk 
the  cow.  Mein  Gott!  Ernest,  since  he  came  back — 
the  women  are  only  good  for  waiting  on  him,  for  wprk- 
ing  in  the  house  or  on  the  farm.  His  wife,  she  will  not 
work  in  the  fields ;  Ernest  is  too  rich  for  that.  But  she 
will  not  be  like" — here  the  girl  paused  abruptly,  a  vivid 
colour  dyeing  her  fair  skin — "like  your  wife.  I  would 
die  sooner  than  marry  a  German  man." 

"But  Ernest  is  not  like  that,  Dorothea.  He  is  not  like 
that  with  my  sisters.  Why,  he  is  rather  the  other  way, 
awfully  polite  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know." 

"Yes,  that's  the  way  with  young  German  gentlemen 


YOU  FORGOT  ME  123 

to  young  ladies,  that  is,  other  people's  ladies.  But  to 
their  own,  no.  And  I  must  tell  you.  Oh,  I  am  afraid 
to  tell  you,"  she  added  breathlessly.  "But  I  will  tell  you, 
you  have  been  so  kind,  so  good  to  me.  You  are  my 
friend,  and  you  will  not  tell.  Promise  me  you  will 
never  tell."  The  girl's  usually  red  face  was  pale,  her 
voice  was  hoarse  and  trembling. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Dorothea?  Of  course  I  won't 
tell." 

"Ernest  wants  to  marry  your  sister,  Kathleen.  He  is 
just  mad  to  get  her,  and  he  always  gets  his  way  too.  I 
would  not  like  to  see  your  sister  his  wife.  He  would 
break  her  heart  and,"  she  added  in  a  lower  voice,  "yours 
too.  But  remember  you  are  not  to  tell.  You  are  not 
to  let  him  know  I  told  you."  A  real  terror  shone  in  her 
eyes.  "Do  you  hear  me?"  she  cried.  "He  would  beat 
me  with  his  whip.  He  would,  he  would." 

"Beat  you,  beat  you  ?"  Larry  pulled  up  his  horse  short. 
"Beat  you  in  this  country — oh,  Dorothea!" 

"They  do.  Our  men  do  beat  their  women,  and  Ernest 
would  too.  The  women  do  not  think  the  same  way  about 
it  as  your  women.  You  will  not  tell?"  she  urged. 

"What  do  you  think  I  am,  Dorothea?  And  as  for 
beating  you,  let  me  catch  him.  By  George,  I'd,  I'd " 

"What?"  said  Dorothea,  turning  her  eyes  full  upon 
him,  her  pale  face  flushing. 

Larry  laughed.  "Well,  he's  a  big  chap,  but  I'd  try  to 
knock  his  block  off.  But  it's  nonsense.  Ernest  is  not 
that  kind.  He's  an  awfully  good  sort." 

"He  is,  he  is  a  good  sort,  but  he  is  also  a  German 
officer  and,  ah,  you  cannot  understand,  but  do  not  let  him 
have  your  sister.  I  have  told  you.  Come,  let  us  go 
quickly." 

They  rode  on  in  silence,  but  did  not  overtake  the  others 
until  they  reached  the  timber  lot  where  they  found  the 
party  waiting.  With  what  Dorothea  had  just  told  him 
in  his  mind,  Larry  could  not  help  a  keen  searching  of 
Kathleen's  face.  She  was  quietly  chatting  with  the 


124  THE  MAJOR 

young  German,  with  face  serene  and  quite  untouched 
with  anything  but  the  slightest  animation.  "She  is  not 
worrying  over  anything,"  said  Larry  to  himself.  Then 
he  turned  and  looked  upon  the  face  of  the  young  man  at 
her  side.  A  shock  of  surprise,  of  consternation,  thrilled 
him.  The  young  man's  face  was  alight  with  an  intensity 
of  eagerness,  of  desire,  that  startled  Larry  and  filled  him 
with  a  new  feeling  of  anxiety,  indeed  of  dismay. 

"Oh,  you  people  are  slow,"  cried  Nora.  "What  is 
keeping  you?  Come  along  or  we  shall  be  late.  Shall 
we  go  through  the  woods  straight  to  the  dump,  or  shall 
we  go  around?" 

"Let's  go  around,"  cried  Kathleen.  "Do  you  know  I 
have  not  been  around  for  ever  so  long?" 

"Yes,"  said  Larry,  "let's  go  around  by  Nora's  mine." 

"Nora's  mine!"  exclaimed  Ernest.  "Do  you  know 
I've  heard  about  that  mine  a  great  deal  but  I  have  never 
seen  Nora's  mine?" 

"Come  along,  then,"  said  Nora,  "but  there's  almost  no 
trail  and  we  shall  have  to  hurry  while  we  can.  There's 
only  a  cow  track." 

"Move  along  then,"  said  her  brother;  "show  us  the 
way  and  we  will  follow.  Go  on,  Ernest." 

But  Ernest  apparently  had  difficulty  with  his  broncho 
so  that  he  was  found  at  the  rear  of  the  line  with  Kath- 
leen immediately  in  front  of  him.  The  cow  trail  led 
out  of  the  coolee  over  a  shoulder  of  a  wooded  hill  and 
down  into  a  ravine  whose  sharp  sides  made  the  riding 
even  to  those  experienced  westerners  a  matter  of  diffi- 
culty, in  places  of  danger.  At  the  bottom  of  the  ravine 
a  little  torrent  boiled  and  foamed  on  its  way  to  join 
Wolf  Willow  Creek  a  mile  further  down.  After  an 
hour's  struggle  with  the  brushwood  and  fallen  timber  the 
party  was  halted  by  a  huge  spruce  tree  which  had  fallen 
fair  across  the  trail. 

"Where  now,  boss?"  cried  Larry  to  Nora,  who  from 
her  superior  knowledge  of  the  ground,  had  been  leading 
the  party. 


YOU  FORGOT  ME  125 

"This  is  something  new,"  answered  Nora.  *'I  think 
we  should  cross  the  water  and  try  to  break  through  to 
the  left  around  the  top  of  the  tree." 

"No,"  said  Ernest,  "the  right  looks  better  to  me, 
around  the  root  here.  It  is  something  of  a  scramble, 
but  it  is  better  than  the  left." 

"Come  along,"  said  Nora;  "this  is  the  way  of  the  trail, 
and  we  can  get  through  the  brush  of  that  top  all  right." 

"I  am  for  the  right.  Come,  let's  try  it,  Kathleen, 
shall  we?"  said  Ernest. 

Kathleen  hesitated.  "Come,  we'll  beat  them  out. 
Right  turn,  march." 

The  commanding  tones  of  the  young  man  appeared  to 
dominate  the  girl.  She  set  her  horse  to  the  steep  hillside, 
following  her  companion  to  the  right.  A  steep  climb 
through  a  tangle  of  underbrush  brought  them  into  the 
cleared  woods,  where  they  paused  to  breathe  their  ani- 
mals. 

"Ah,  that  was  splendidly  done.  You  are  a  good  horse- 
woman," said  Ernest.  "If  you  only  had  a  horse  as  good 
as  mine  we  could  go  anywhere  together.  You  deserve  a 
better  horse,  too.  I  wonder  if  you  know  how  fine  you 
look." 

"My  dear  old  Kitty  is  not  very  quick  nor  very  beauti- 
ful, but  she  is  very  faithful,  and  so  kind,"  said  Kathleen, 
reaching  down  and  patting  her  mare  on  the  nose.  "Shall 
we  go  on?" 

"We  need  not  hurry,"  replied  her  companion.  "We 
have  beaten  them  already.  I  love  the  woods  here,  and, 
Kathleen,  I  have  not  seen  you  for  ever  so  long,  for  nine 
long  months.  And  since  your  return  fifteen  days  ago  I 
have  seen  you  only  once,  only  once." 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Kathleen,  hurrying  her  horse  a 
little.  "We  happened  to  be  out  every  time  you  called." 

"Other  people  have  seen  you,"  continued  the  young 
man  with  a  note  almost  of  anger  in  his  voice.  "Every- 
where I  hear  of  you,  but  I  cannot  see  you.  At  church 
— I  go  to  church  to  see  you — but  that,  that  Englishman 


126  THE  MAJOR 

is  with  you.  He  walks  with  you,  you  go  in  his  motor 
car,  he  is  in  ^our  house  every  day." 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  Ernest?  Mr.  Romayne? 
Of  course.  Mother  likes  him  so  much,  and  we  all  like 
him." 

"Your  mother,  ah!"  Ernest's  tone  was  full  of  scorn. 

"Yes,  my  mother — we  all  like  him,  and  his  sister,  Mrs. 
Waring-Gaunt,  you  know.  They  are  our  nearest  neigh- 
bours, and  we  have  come  to  know  them  very  well.  Shall 
we  go  on  ?" 

"Kathleen,  listen  to  me,"  said  the  young  man. 

At  this  point  a  long  call  came  across  the  ravine. 

"Ah,  there  they  are,"  cried  the  girl.  "Let's  hurry, 
please  do."  She  brought  her  whip  down  unexpectedly 
on  Kitty's  shoulders.  The  mare,  surprised  at  such  un- 
usual treatment  from  her  mistress,  sprang  forward, 
slipped  on  the  moss-covered  sloping  rock,  plunged,  re- 
covered herself,  slipped  again,  and  fell  over  on  her  side. 
At  her  first  slip,  the  young  man  was  off  his  horse,  and 
before  the  mare  finally  pitched  forward  was  at  her  head, 
and  had  caught  the  girl  •  from  the  saddle  into  his  arms. 
For  a  moment  she  lay  there  white  and  breathing  hard. 

"My  God,  Kathleen!"  he  cried.  "You  are  hurt?  You 
might  have  been  killed."  His  eyes  burned  like  two  blaz- 
ing lights,  his  voice  was  husky,  his  face  white.  Sud- 
denly crushing  her  to  him,  he  kissed  her  on  the  cheek  and 
again  on  her  lips.  The  girl  struggled  to  get  free. 

"Oh,  let  me  go,  let  me  go,"  she  cried.  "How  can  you, 
how  can  you?" 

But  his  arms  were  like  steel  about  her,  and  again  and 
again  he  continued  to  kiss  her,  until,  suddenly  relaxing, 
she  lay  white  and  shuddering  in  his  arms. 

"Kathleen,"  he  said,  his  voice  hoarse  with  passion, 
"I  love  you,  I  love  you.  I  want  you.  Gott  in  Hirnmel, 
I  want  you.  Open  your  eyes,  Kathleen,  my  darling. 
Speak  to  me.  Open  your  eyes.  Look  at  me.  Tell  me 
you  love  me."  But  still  she  lay  white  and  shuddering. 


YOU  FORGOT  ME  127 

Suddenly  he  released  her  and  set  her  on  her  feet.  She 
stood  looking  at  him  with  quiet,  searching  eyes. 

"You  love  me,"  she  said,  her  voice  low  and  quivering 
with  a  passionate  scorn,  "and  you  treat  me  so?  Let  us 
go."  She  moved  toward  her  horse. 

"Kathleen,  hear  me,"  he  entreated.  "You  must  hear 
me.  You  shall  hear  me."  He  caught  her  once  more 
by  the  arm.  "I  forgot  myself.  I  saw  you  lying  there 
so  white.  How  could  I  help  it?  I  meant  no  harm.  I 
have  loved  you  since  you  were  a  little  girl,  since  that 
day  I  saw  you  first  herding  the  cattle.  You  had  a  blue 
dress  and  long  braids.  I  loved  you  then.  I  have  loved 
you  every  day  since.  I  think  of  you  and  I  dream  of  you. 
The  world  is  full  of  you.  I  am  offering  you  marriage. 
I  want  you  to  be  my  wife."  The  hands  that  clutched 
her  arm  were  shaking,  his  voice  was  thick  and  broken. 
But  still  she  stood  with  her  face  turned  from  him,  quietly 
trying  to  break  from  his  grasp.  But  no  word  did  she 
speak. 

"Kathleen,  I  forgot  myself,"  he  said,  letting  go  of  her 
arm.  "I  was  wrong,  but.  my  God,  Kathleen,  I  am  not 
stone,  and  when  I  felt  your  heart  beat  against  mine " 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  shuddering  and  drawing  further  away 
from  him. 

" — and  your  face  so  white,  your  dear  face  so  near 
mine,  I  forgot  myself." 

"No,"  said  the  girl,  turning  her  face  toward  him  and 
searching  him  with  her  quiet,  steady,  but  contemptuous 
eyes,  "you  forgot  me." 


CHAPTER  IX 

EXCEPT  HE  STRIVE  LAWFULLY 

THE  Wolf  Willow  Dominion  Day  Celebration  Com- 
mittee were  in  session  in  the  schoolhouse  with  the 
Reverend  Evans  Rhye  in  the  chair,  and  all  of  the  fifteen 
members  in  attendance.  The  reports  from  the  various 
sub-committees  had  been  presented  and  approved. 

The  programme  for  the  day  was  in  the  parson's  hand. 

"A  fine  programme,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  thanks  to 
you  all,  and  especially  to  our  friend  here,"  said  Mr. 
Rhye,  placing  his  hand  on  Larry's  shoulder. 

A  chorus  of  approval  greeted  his  remark,  but  Larry 
protested.  "Not  at  all.  Every  one  was  keen  to  help. 
We  are  all  tremendous  Canadians  and  eager  to  celebrate 
Dominion  Day." 

"Well,  let  us  go  over  it  again,"  said  Mr.  Rhye.  "The 
football  match  with  the  Eagle  Hill  boys  is  all  right.  How 
about  the  polo  match  with  the  High  River  men,  Larry?" 

"The  captain  of  the  High  River  team  wrote  to  express 
regret  that  two  of  his  seniors  would  not  be  available,  but 
that  he  hoped  to  give  us  a  decent  game." 

"There  will  only  be  one  fault  with  the  dinner  and  the 
tea,  Mrs.  Kemp." 

"And  what  will  that  be,  sir?"  enquired  Mrs.  Kemp, 
who  happened  to  be  Convener  of  the  Refreshment  Com- 
mittee. 

"They  will  receive  far  too  much  for  their  money,"  said 
Mr.  Rhye.  "How  about  the  evening  entertainment, 
Larry?"  he  continued. 

"Everything  is  all  right,  I  think,  sir,"  said  Larry. 


EXCEPT  HE  STRIVE  129 

"Are  the  minstrels  in  good  form?"  enquired  Mrs. 
Waring-Gaunt  "This  is  your  last  appearance,  you 
know,  and  you  must  go  out  in  a  blaze  of  glory." 

"We  hope  to  get  through  somehow,"  said  Larry. 

"And  the  speakers?"  enquired  Mr.  Rhye. 

"Both  will  be  on  hand.  Mr.  Gilchrist  promises  a  pa- 
triotic address.  Mr.  Alvin  P.  Jones  will  represent  Wolf 
Willow  in  a  kind  of  local  glorification  stunt." 

"This  is  all  perfectly  splendid,"  said  Mr.  Rhye,  "and 
I  cannot  tell  you  how  grateful  I  am  to  you  all.  We 
ought  to  have  a  memorable  day  to-morrow." 
,,  And  a  memorable  day  it  was.  The  weather  proved 
worthy  of  Alberta's  best  traditions,  for  it  was  sunny,  with 
a  fine  sweeping  breeze  to  temper  the  heat  and  to  quicken 
the  pulses  with  its  life-bringing  ozone  fresh  from  the 
glacier  gorges  and  the  pine  forests  of  the  Rockies. 

The  captain  of  the  Wolf  Willow  football  team  was 
awake  and  afoot  soon  after  break  of  day  that  he  might 
be  in  readiness  for  the  Eagle  Hill  team  when  they  ar- 
rived. Sam  was  in  his  most  optimistic  mood.  His 
team,  he  knew,  were  in  the  finest  condition  and  fit  for 
their  finest  effort.  Everything  promised  victory.  But 
alas!  for  Sam's  hopes.  At  nine  o'clock  a  staggering 
blow  fell  when  Vial,  his  partner  on  the  right  wing  of  the 
forward  line,  rode  over  with  the  news  that  Coleman, 
their  star  goal-keeper,  their  ultimate  reliance  on  the  de- 
fence line,  had  been  stepped  on  by  a  horse  and  rendered 
useless  for  the  day.  It  was,  indeed,  a  crushing  calamity. 
Sam  spent  an  hour  trying  to  dig  up  a  substitute.  The 
only  possible  substitutes  were  Hepworth  and  Biggs, 
neither  of  them  first  class  men  but  passable,  and  Fatty 
Rose.  The  two  former,  however,  had  gone  for  the  day 
to  Calgary,  and  Fatty  Rose  was  hopelessly  slow.  Sam 
discussed  the  distressing  situation  with  such  members  of 
the  team  as  could  be  hastily  got  together. 

"Dere's  dat  new  feller,"  suggested  Joe. 

"That's  so,"  said  Vial,  familiarly  known  as  Bottles. 
"That  chap  Sykes,  Farwell's  friend.  He's  a  dandy 


130  THE  MAJOR 

dribbler.  He  could  take  Cassap's  place  on  left  wing  and 
let  Cassap  take  goal." 

With  immense  relief  the  team  accepted  this  solution  of 
the  difficulty.  But  gloom  still  covered  Sam's  face.  "He's 
only  been  here  two  weeks,"  he  said,  "and  you  know  darn 
well  the  rule  calls  for  four." 

"Oh,  hang  it!"  said  Bottles,  "he's  going  to  be  a  resi- 
dent all  right.  He's  a  real  resident  right  now,  and  any- 
way, they  won't  know  anything  about  it." 

"Oh,  cut  it  out,"  said  Sam,  suddenly  flaring  into 
wrath.  "You  know  we  can't  do  that  sort  of  thing.  It 
ain't  the  game  and  we  ain't  goin'  to  do  it." 

"What  ain't  the  game?"  enquired  Larry,  who  had 
come  upon  the  anxious  and  downcast  group. 

Farwell  told  him  the  calamitous  news  and  explained 
the  problem  under  discussion.  "We'd  play  Sykes,  only 
he  hasn't  been  here  a  month  yet,  and  Sam  won't  stand 
for  it,"  he  said. 

"Of  course  Sam  won't  stand  for  it,  and  the  Captain  is 
right,"  said  Larry.  "Is  there  nobody  else,  Sam?"  Sam 
shook  his  head  despondently.  "Would  I  be  any  good, 
Sam?  I  am  not  keen  about  it,  but  if  you  think  I  could 
take  Cassap's  place  on  left  wing,  he  could  take  goal." 

Sam  brightened  up  a  little.  "Guess  we  can't  do  no 
better,"  he  said  doubtfully.  "I  mean,"  he  added  in  an- 
swer to  the  shout  of  laughter  from  the  team — "Aw,  shut 
up,  can  that  cackle.  We  know  the  Master  hates  foot- 
ball an'  this  is  goin'  to  be  a  real  fightin'  game.  He'll 
get  all  knocked  about  an'  I  don't  want  that.  You  know 
he'll  be  takin'  all  kinds  of  chances." 

"Oh,  quit,  Sam.  I  am  in  pretty  good  shape,"  said 
Larry.  "They  can't  kill  me.  That's  the  best  I  can  do 
anyway,  so  let's  get  to  them." 

The  situation  was  sufficiently  gloomy  to  stir  Joe  to 
his  supremest  efforts  and  to  kindle  Sam's  spirit  to  a 
blazing  flame.  "We  don't  need  Sykes  nor  nobody  else," 
he  shouted  to  his  men  as  they  moved  on  to  the  field. 
"They  can  wear  their  boots  out  on  that  defence  line  of 


EXCEPT  HE  STRIVE  131 

ours  an'  be  derned  to  'em.  An',  Bottles,  you  got  to  play 
the  game  of  your  life  to-day.  None  of  your  fancy  em- 
broidery, just  plain  knittin'.  Every  feller  on  the  ball 
an'  every  feller  play  to  his  man.  There'll  be  a  lot  of 
females  hangin'  around,  but  we  don't  want  any  frills  for 
the  girls  to  admire.  But  all  at  it  an'  all  the  time." 
Sam's  little  red  eyes  glowed  with  even  a  more  fiery  hue 
than  usual ;  his  rat-like  face  assumed  its  most  belligerent 
aspect. 

Before  the  match  Larry  took  the  Eagle  Hill  captain, 
a  young  Englishman  who  had  been  trying  for  ten  years 
to  make  a  living  on  a  ranch  far  up  among  the  foothills 
and  was  only  beginning  to  succeed,  to  his  mother,  who 
had  been  persuaded  to  witness  the  game.  They  found 
her  in  Kathleen's  care  and  under  instruction  from  young 
Farwell  as  to  the  fundamental  principles  of  the  game. 
Near  them  a  group  of  men  were  standing,  among  whom 
were  Switzer,  Waring-Gaunt,  and  Jack  Romayne,  listen- 
ing to  Farwell's  dissertation. 

"You  see,  Mrs.  Gwynne,"  he  said,  "no  one  may  handle 
the  ball — head,  feet,  body,  may  be  used,  but  not  the 
hands." 

"But  I  understand  they  sometimes  hurt  each  other, 
Mr.  Farwell." 

"Oh,  accidents  will  happen  even  on  the  farm,  Mrs. 
Gwynne.  For  instance,  Coleman  this  morning  had  a 
horse  step  on  his  foot,  necessitating  Larry's  going  on.'* 

"Is  Lawrence  going  to  play?"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne. 
"Ah,  here  he  is.  Lawrence,  are  you  in  good  condition  ? 
You  have  not  been  playing." 

"I  am  not  really  very  fit,  Mother,  not  very  hard,  but  I 
have  been  running  a  good  deal.  I  don't  expect  I  shall 
be  much  use.  Sam  is  quite  dubious  about  it." 

"He  will  be  all  right,  Mrs.  Gwynne,"  said  Farwell 
confidently.  "He  is  the  fastest  runner  in  the  team.  If 
he  were  only  twenty  pounds  heavier  and  if  he  were  a  bit 
more  keen  about  the  game  he  would  be  a  star." 

"Why  don't  they  play  Sykes?"  inquired  Kathleen.     "I 


132  THE  MAJOR 

heard  some  of  the  boys  say  this  morning  that  Sykes  was 
going  to  play.-  He  is  quite  wonderful,  I  believe." 

"He  is,"  replied  Larry,  "quite  wonderful,  but  unfor- 
tunately he  is  not  eligible.  But  let  me  introduce  Mr. 
Duckworth,  Captain  of  our  enemy." 

Mrs.  Gwynne  received  the  young  man  with  a  bright 
smile.  "I  am  sorry  I  cannot  wish  you  victory,  and  all 
the  more  now  that  my  own  son  is  to  be  engaged.  But  I 
don't  understand,  Larry,"  she  continued,  "why  Mr.  Sykes 
cannot  play." 

"Why,  because  there's  a  League  regulation,  Mother, 
that  makes  a  month's  residence  in  the  district  necessary 
to  a  place  on  the  team.  Unfortunately  Sykes  has  been 
here  only  two  weeks,  and  so  we  are  unwilling  to  put  one 
over  on  our  gallant  foe.  Got  to  play  the  game,  eh, 
Duckworth  ?" 

Duckworth's  face  grew  fiery  red.  "Yes,  certainly," 
he  said.  "Rather  an  awkward  rule  but " 

"You  see,  Mother,  \ve  want  to  eliminate  every  sign  of 
professionalism,"  said  Larry,  "and  emphasise  the  prin- 
ciple of  local  material  for  clubs." 

"Ah,  I  see,  and  a  very  good  idea,  I  should  say,"  said 
his  mother.  "The  Eagle  Hill  team,  for  instance,  will  be 
made  up  of  Eagle  Hill  men  only.  That  is  really  much 
better  for  the  game  because  you  get  behind  your  team 
all  the  local  pride  and  enthusiasm." 

"A  foolish  rule,  I  call  it,"  said  Switzer  abruptly  to 
Kathleen,  "and  you  can't  enforce  it  anyway.  Who  can 
tcli  the  personality  of  a  team  ten,  twenty  or  fifty  miles 
away?" 

"I  fancy  they  can  tell  themselves,"  said  Jack  Romayne. 
"Their  Captain  can  certify  to  his  men." 

"Aha!"  laughed  Switzer.  "That's  good.  The  Cap- 
tain, I  suppose,  is  keen  to  win.  Do  you  think  he  would 
keep  a  man  off  his  team  who  is  his  best  player,  and 
who  may  bring  him,  the  game?"  Switzer's  face  was  full 
of  scorn. 


EXCEPT  HE  STRIVE  133^ 

"I  take  it  they  are  gentlemen,"  was  Romayne's  quiet 
rejoinder. 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Romayne,"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne. 
"That  gets  rid  of  all  the  difficulty.  Otherwise  it  seems 
to  me  that  all  the  pleasure  would  be  gone  from  the  con- 
test, the  essential  condition  of  which  is  keeping  to  the 
rules." 

"Good  for  you,  Mother.  You're  a  real  sport,"  said 
Larry. 

"Besides,"  replied  his  mother,  "we  have  Scripture  for 
it.  You  remember  what  it  says?  'If  a  man  strive  for 
masteries  yet  is  he  not  crowned  except  he  strive  law- 
fully.' 'Except  he  strive  lawfully/  you  see.  The  crown 
he  might  otherwise  win  would  bring  neither  honour  nor 
pleasure." 

"Good  again,  Mother.  You  ought  to  have  a  place  on 
the  League  committee.  We  shall  have  that  Scripture  en- 
tered on  the  rules.  But  I  must  run  and  dress.  Farwell, 
you  can  take  charge  of  Duckworth." 

But  Duckworth  was  uneasy  to  be  gone.  "If  you  will 
excuse  me,  Mrs.  Gwynne,  I  must  get  my  men  together." 

"Well,  Mr.  Duckworth,"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne,  smiling 
on  him  as  she  gave  him  her  hand,  "I  am  sorry  we  can- 
not wish  you  a  victory,  but  we  can  wish  you  your  very 
best  game  and  an  honourable  defeat." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Duckworth.  "I  feel  you  have  dona 
your  best." 

"Come  and  see  us  afterward,  Mr.  Duckworth.  What 
a  splendid  young  man,"  she  continued,  as  Duckworth  left 
the  party  and  set  off  to  get  his  men  together  with  the 
words  "except  he  strive  lawfully"  ringing  in  his  ears. 

"She's  a  wonder,"  he  said  to  himself.  <:I  wonder 
how  it  is  she  got  to  me  as  she  has.  I  know.  She  makes 

me  think "  But  Duckworth  refused  even  to  himself 

to  say  of  whom  she  made  him  think.  "Except  he  strive 
lawfully"  the  crown  would  bring  "neither  honour  nor 
pleasure."  Those  words,  and  the  face  which  had  sud- 
denly been  recalled  to  Duckworth's  memory  recon- 


134  THE  MAJOR 

I 

structed  his  whole  scheme  o*  football  diplomacy.  "By 
George,  we  cannot  play  Liebold;  we  can't  do  it.  The 
boys  will  kick  like  steers,  but  how  can  we?  I'm  up 
against  a  fierce  proposition,  all  right." 

And  so  he  found  when  he  called  his  men  together  and 
put  to  them  the  problem  before  him.  "It  seems  a  rotten 
time  to  bring  this  matter  up  just  when  we  are  going  on 
to  the  ground,  but  I  never  really  thought  much  about  it 
till  that  little  lady  put  it  to  me  as  I  told  you.  And,  fel- 
lows, I  have  felt  as  if  it  were  really  up  to  me  to  put  it 
before  you.  They  have  lost  their  goal  man,  Coleman — 
there's  no  better  in  the  League — and  because  of  this  in- 
fernal rule  they  decline  to  put  on  a  cracking  good  player. 
They  are  playing  the  game  on  honour,  and  they  are  ex- 
pecting us  to  do  the  same,  and  as  that  English  chap  says, 
they  expect  us  to  be  gentlemen.  I  apologise  to  you  all, 
and  if  you  say  go  on  as  we  are,  I  will  go  on  because  I  feel 
I  ought  to  have  kicked  before.  But  I  do  so  under  protest 
and  feeling  like  a  thief.  I  suggest  that  Harremann  take 
Liebold's  place.  Awfully  sorry  about  it,  Liebold,  and  I 
apologise  to  you.  I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am,  boys, 
but  that's  how  it  is  with  me." 

There  was  no  time  for  discussion,  and  strangely 
enough  there  was  little  desire  for  it,  the  Captain's  person- 
ality and  the  action  of  the  Wolf  Willow  team  carrying 
the  proposition  through.  Harremann  took  his  place  on 
the  team,  and  Liebold  made  his  contribution  that  day 
from  the  side  lines.  But  the  team  went  on  to  the  field 
with  a  sense  that  whatever  might  be  the  outcome  of  the 
match  they  had  begun  the  day  with  victory. 

The  match  was  contested  with  the  utmost  vigour,  not 
to  say  violence;  but  there  was  an  absence  of  the  rancour 
which  had  too  often  characterised  the  clashing  of  these 
teams  on  previous  occasions,  the  Eagle  Hill  team  carry- 
ing on  to  the  field  a  new  respect  for  their  opponents  as 
men  who  had  shown  a  true  sporting  spirit.  And  by  the 
time  the  first  quarter  was  over  their  action  in  substituting 
an  inferior  player  for  Liebold  for  honour's  sake  was 


EXCEPT  HE  STRIVE  135 

known  to  all  the  members  of  the  Wolf  Willow  team,  and 
awakened  in  them  and  in  their  friends  among  the  spec- 
tators a  new  respect  for  their  enemy.  The  match  re- 
sulted in  a  victory  for  the  home  team,  but  the  generous 
applause  which  followed  the  Eagle  Hill  team  from  the 
field  and  which  greeted  them  afterward  at  the  dinner 
where  they  occupied  an  honoured  place  at  the  table  set 
apart  for  distinguished  guests,  and  the  excellent  dinner 
provided  by  the  thrifty  Ladies'  Aid  of  All  Saints  Church 
went  far  to  soothe  their  wounded  spirits  and  to  atone 
for  their  defeat. 

"Awfully  fine  of  you,  Duckworth,"  said  Larry,  as  they 
left  the  table  together.  "That's  the  sort  of  thing  that 
makes  for  clean  sport." 

"I  promised  to  see  your  mother  after  the  match,"  said 
Duckworth.  "Can  we  find  her  now  ?" 

"Sure  thing,"  said  Larry. 

Mrs.  Gwynne  received  the  young  man  with  hand 
stretched  far  out  to  meet  him. 

"You  made  us  lose  the  game,  Mrs.  Gwynne,"  said 
Duckworth  in  a  half-shamed  manner,  "and  that  is  one 
reason  why  I  came  to  see  you  again." 

"I  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gwynne. 

"Well,  you  quoted  Scripture  against  us,  and  you  know 
you  can't  stand  up  against  Scripture  and  hope  to  win, 
can  you  ?"  said  Duckworth  with  a  laugh. 

"Sit  down  here  beside  me,  Mr.  Duckworth,"  she  said, 
her  eyes  shining.  "I  won't  pretend  not  to  understand 
you,"  she  continued  when  he  had  taken  his  place  beside 
her.  "I  can't  tell  you  how  proud  I  am  of  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Duckworth.  "I  like  to  hear  that. 
You  see  I  never  thought  about  it  very  much.  I  am  not 
excusing  myself." 

"No,  I  know  you  are  not,  but  I  heard  about  it,  Mr. 
Duckworth  We  all  think  so  much  of  you.  I  am  sure 
your  mother  is  proud  of  you." 

Young  Duckworth  sat  silent,  his  eyes  fastened  upon 
the  ground. 


136  THE  MAJOR 

"Please  forgive  me.  Perhaps  she  is — no  longer  with 
you,"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne  softly,  laying  her  hand  upon  his. 
Duckworth  nodded,  refusing  to  look  at  her  and  keeping 
his  lips  firmly  pressed  together.  "I  was  wrong  in  what 
I  said  just  now,"  she  continued.  "She  is  with  you  still; 
she  knows  and  follows  all  your  doings,  and  I  believe  she 
is  proud  of  you." 

Duckworth  cleared  his  throat  and  said  with  an  evident 
effort,  "You  made  me  think  of  her  to-day,  and  I  simply 
had  to  play  up.  I  must  go  now.  I  must  see  the  fel- 
lows." He  rose  quickly  to  his  feet. 

"Come  and  see  us,  won't  you?"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne. 

"Won't  I  just,"  replied  Duckworth,  holding  her  hand 
a  moment  or  two.  "I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  that 
I  met  you  to-day." 

"Oh,  wait,  Mr.  Duckworth.  Nora,  come  here.  I 
want  you  to  meet  my  second  daughter.  Nora,  this  is 
Mr.  Duckworth,  the  Captain." 

"Oh,  I  know  him,  the  Captain  of  the  enemy,"  cried 
Nora. 

"Of  our  friends,  Nora,"  said  her  mother. 

"All  right,  of  our  friends,  now  that  we  have  beaten 
you,  but  I  want  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Duckworth,  that  I  could 
gladly  have  slain  you  many  times  to-day." 

"And  why,  pray?" 

"Oh,  you  were  so  terribly  dangerous,  and  as  for 
Larry,  why  you  just  played  with  him.  It  was  perfectly 
maddening  to  me." 

"All  the  same  your  brother  got  away  from  me  and  shot 
the  winning  goal.  He's  fearfully  fast." 

"A  mere  fluke,  I  tell  him." 

"Don't  you  think  it  for  one  little  minute.  It  was  a 
neat  bit  of  work." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   SPIRIT  OF   CANADA 

WHATEVER  it  was  that  rendered  it  necessary  for 
Duckworth  to  "see  the  fellows,"  that  necessity 
vanished  in  the  presence  of  Nora. 

"Are  you  going  to  take  in  the  polo  ?"  he  asked. 

"Am  I?  Am  I  going  to  continue  breathing?"  cried 
Nora.  "Come  along,  Mother,  we  must  go  if  we  are  to 
get  a  good  place." 

"May  I  find  one  for  you,"  said  Mr.  Duckworth,  quite 
forgetting  that  he  "must  see  the  fellows,"  and  thinking 
only  of  his  good  luck  in  falling  in  with  such  a  "stunning- 
looking  girl."  He  himself  had  changed  into  flannels,  and 
with  his  athletic  figure,  his  brown,  healthy  face,  brown 
eyes  and  hair,  was  a  thoroughly  presentable  young  man. 
He  found  a  place  with  ease  for  his  party,  a  dozen  people 
offering  to  make  room  for  them.  As  Mr.  Duckworth 
let  his  eyes  rest  upon  the  young  lady  at  his  side  his  sense 
of  good- fortune  grew  upon  him,  for  Nora  in  white  pique 
skirt  and  batiste  blouse  smartly  girdled  with  a  scarlet 
patent  leather  belt,  in  white  canvas  shoes  and  sailor  hat, 
made  a  picture  good  to  look  at.  Her  dark  olive  brown 
skin,  with  rich  warm  colour  showing  through  the  sun- 
burn of  her  cheeks,  her  dark  eyes,  and  her  hair  for  once 
"done  up  in  style"  under  Kathleen's  supervision,  against 
the  white  of  her  costume  made  her  indeed  what  her  escort 
thought,  "a  stunning-looking  girl."  Usually  careless  as 
to  her  appearance,  she  had  yielded  to  Kathleen's  persua- 
sion and  had  "gotten  herself  up  to  kill."  No  wonder  her 
friends  of  both  sexes  followed  her  with  eyes  of  admira- 
tion, for  no  one  envied  Nora,  her  frank  manner,  her  gen- 

137 


138  THE  MAJOR 

erous  nature,  her  open  scorn  at  all  attempts  to  win  ad- 
miration, made  her  only  friends. 

"Bring  your  mother  over  here,"  cried  Mrs.  Waring- 
Gaunt,  who  rejoiced  exceedingly  in  the  girl's  beauty. 
"Why,  how  splendidly  you  are  looking  to-day,"  she  con- 
tinued in  a  more  confidential  tone  as  the  party  grouped 
themselves  about  her.  "What  have  you  been  doing  to 
yourself?  You  are  looking  awfully  fine." 

"Am  I  ?"  said  Nora,  exceedingly  pleased  with  herself. 
"I  am  awfully  glad.  It  is  all  Kathleen's  doing.  I  got 
me  the  belt  and  the  hat  new  for  this  show." 

"Very  smart,  that  belt,  my  dear,"  said  her  friend. 

"I  rather  fancy  it  myself,  and  Kathleen  would  do  up 
my  hair  in  this  new  way,"  said  Nora,  removing  her  hat 
that  the  full  glory  of  her  coiffure  might  appear.  "Do 
you  like  it?" 

"Perfectly  spiffing!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Duckworth,  who 
had  taken  a  seat  just  behind  her  chair. 

Nora  threw  him  a  challenging  glance  that  made  that 
young  man's  heart  skip  a  beat  or  two  as  all  the  excite- 
ments of  the  match  had  not. 

"Are  you  a  judge?"  said  the  girl,  tipping  her  saucy 
chin  at  him. 

"Am  I?  With  four  sisters  and  dozens  of  cousins  to 
practise  on,  I  fancy  I  might  claim  to  be  a  regular  bench 
show  expert." 

"Then,"  cried  Nora  with  sudden  animation,  "you  are 
the  very  man  I  want." 

"Thank  you  so  much,"  replied  Mr.  Duckworth  fer- 
vently. 

"I  mean,  perhaps  you  can  advise  me.  Now  as  you 

look  at  me The  young  man's  eyes  burned  into 

hers  so  that  with  all  her  audacity  Nora  felt  the  colour 
rising  in  her  face.  "Which  would  you  suggest  as  the 
most  suitable  style  for  me,  the  psyche  knot  or  the  neck 
roll?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon  ?     I  rather " 

"Or  would  you  say  the  French  twist?" 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CANADA       139 

"Ah,  the  French  twist— 

"Or  simply  marcelled  and  pomped?" 

"I  am  afraid " 

"Or  perhaps  the  pancake  or  the  coronet?" 

"Well,"  said  the  young  man,  desperately  plunging, 
"the  coronet  I  should  say  would  certainly  not  be  inap- 
propriate. It  goes  with  princesses,  duchesses  and  that 
sort  of  thing.  Don't  you  think  so,  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  ?" 
said  Duckworth,  hoping  to  be  extricated.  That  lady, 
however,  gave  him  no  assistance  but  continued  to  smile 
affectionately  at  the  girl  beside  her.  "What  style  is  this 
that  you  have  now  adopted,  may  I  ask?"  inquired  Mr. 
Duckworth  cautiously. 

"Oh,  that's  a  combination  of  several.  It's  a  creation 
of  Kathleen's  which  as  yet  has  received  no  name." 

''Then  it  should  be  named  at  once,"  said  Duckworth 
with  great  emphasis.  "May  I  suggest  the  Thunderbolt? 
You  see,  of  course — so  stunning." 

"They  are  coming  on,"  cried  Nora,  turning  her  shoul- 
der in  disdain  upon  the  young  man.  "Look,  there's  your 
brother,  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt.  I  think  he  is  perfectly 
splendid." 

"Which  is  he?"  said  Mr.  Duckworth,  acutely  inter- 
ested. 

"That  tall,  fine-looking  man  on  the  brown  pony." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  see.  Met  him  this  morning.  By  Jove, 
he  is  some  looker  too,"  replied  Mr.  Duckworth  with  re- 
luctant enthusiasm. 

"And  there  is  the  High  River  Captain,"  said  Mrs. 
Waring-Gaunt,  "on  the  grey." 

"Oh,  yes,  Monteith,  he  played  for  All  Canada  last 
year,  didn't  he?"  said  Nora  with  immense  enthusiasm. 
"He  is  perfectly  splendid." 

"I  hear  the  High  River  club  has  really  sent  only  its 
second  team,  or  at  least  two  of  them,"  said  Mrs.  Waring- 
Gaunt.  "Certainly  Tremaine  is  not  with  them." 

"I  hope  they  get  properly  trimmed  for  it,"  said  Nora, 
indignantly.  "Such  cheek!" 


140  THE  MAJOR 

The  result  of  the  match  quite  exceeded  Nora's  fonde  t 
hopes,  for  the  High  River  team,  having  made  the  fatal 
error  of  despising  the  enemy,  suffered  the  penalty  of  their 
mistake  in  a  crushing  defeat.  It  was  certainly  a  mem- 
orable day  for  Wolf  Willow,  whose  inhabitants  were  ex- 
alted to  a  height  of  glory  as  they  never  experienced  in  all 
their  history. 

"Serves  us  right,"  said  Monteith,  the  High  River  Cap- 
tain, apologising  for  his  team's  poor  display  to  his  friend, 
Hec  Ross,  who  had  commanded  the  Wolf  Willow  team. 
"We  deserved  to  be  jolly  well  licked,  and  we  got  what 
was  coming  to  us." 

"Oh,  we're  not  worrying,"  replied  the  Wolf  Willow 
Captain,  himself  a  sturdy  horseman  and  one  of  the  most 
famous  stick  handlers  in  the  West.  "Of  course,  we  know 
that  if  Murray  and  Knight  had  been  with  you  the  result 
would  have  been  different." 

,  "I  am  not  at  all  sure  about  that,"  replied  Monteith. 
"That  new  man  of  yours,  Romayne,  is  a  wonder.  Army 
man,  isn't  he?" 

"Yes,  played  in  India,  I  believe." 

*'Oh,  no  wonder  he's  such  a  don  at  it.  You  ought  to 
get  together  a  great  team  here,  Ross,  and  I  should  like  to 
bring  our  team  down  again  to  give  you  a  real  game." 

"When?" 

"Say  two  weeks.  No.  That  throws  it  a  little  late 
for  the  harvest.  Say  a  week  from  to-day." 

"I  shall  let  you  know  to-night,"  said  Ross.  "You  are 
staying  for  the  spellbinding  fest  and  entertainment,  are 
you  not?" 

"Sure  thing;  we  are  out  for  the  whole  day.  Who  are 
on  for  the  speaking?" 

"Gilchrist  for  one,  our  Member  for  the  Dominion,  you 
know." 

"Oh,  yes,  strong  man,  I  believe.  He's  a  Liberal,  of 
course." 

"Yes,"  replied  Ross,  "he's  a  Grit  all  right,  hide-bound 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CANADA       141 

"Which  you  are  not,  I  take  it,"  replied  Monteith  with 
a  laugh. 

''Traditionally  I  am  a  Conservative,"  said  Ross,  "but 
last  election  I  voted  Liberal.  I  don't  know  how  you  were 
but  I  was  keen  on  Reciprocity." 

"The  contrary  with  me,"  replied  Monteith.  "Tra- 
ditionally I  am  a  Liberal,  but  I  voted  Conservative." 

"You  voted  against  Reciprocity,  you  a  western  man 
voted  against  a  better  market  for  our  wheat  and  stuff, 
and  against  cheaper  machinery?" 

"Yes,  I  knew  quite  well  it  would  give  us  a  better  mar- 
ket for  our  grain  here,  and  it  would  give  us  cheaper  ma- 
chinery too,  but-  -do  you  really  care  to  know  why  I 
switched?" 

"Sure  thing;  I'd  like  awfully  to  hear  if  you  don't  mind. 
We  are  not  discussing  politics,  you  understand." 

"No.  Well,"  said  Monteith,  "two  things  made  me 
change  my  party.  In  the  first  place,  to  be  quite  frank,  I 
was  afraid  of  American  domination.  We  are  a  small 
people  yet.  Their  immense  wealth  would  overwhelm  our 
manufacturers  and  flood  our  markets  with  cheap  stuff, 
and  with  trade  dominance  there  would  more  easily  go 
political  dominance.  You  remember  Taft's  speech? 
That  settled  it  for  me.  That  was  one  thing.  The  other 
was  the  Navy  question.  I  didn't  like  Laurier's  attitude. 
I  am  a  Canadian,  born  right  here  in  Alberta,  but  I  am  an 
Imperialist.  I  am  keen  about  the  Empire  and  that  sort 
of  thing.  I  believe  that  our  destiny  is  with  the  Empire 
and  that  with  the  Empire  we  shall  attain  to  our  best. 
And  since  the  Empire  has  protected  us  through  all  of 
our  history,  I  believe  the  time  has  come  when  we  should 
make  our  contribution  to  its  defence.  Wre  ought  to  have 
a  fleet,  and  that  fleet  in  time  of  war  should  automatically 
be  merged  with  the  Imperial  Navy.  That's  how  I  felt  at 
the  last  election.  This  autonomy  stuff  of  Laurier's  is  all 
right,  but  it  should  not  interfere  with  Imperial  unity." 

"It's  a  funny  thing,"  replied  Ross.  "I  take  the  op- 
posite side  on  both  these  points.  I  was  born  in  the  Old 


142  THE  MAJOR 

Country  and  like  most  Old  Country  people  believe  in 
Free  Trade.  So  I  was  keen  to  wipe  out  all  barriers  be- 
tween the  United  States  and  ourselves  in  trade.  I  be- 
lieve in  trading  wherever  you  can  get  the  best  terms.  As 
for  American  domination,  I  have  not  the  slightest  fear  in 
the  world  of  the  Yankees.  They  might  flood  our  mar- 
kets at  first,  probably  would,  but  they  would  certainly 
tfring  in  capital.  We  need  capital  badly,  you  know  that. 
And  why  should  not  factories  be  established  on  this  side 
of  the  line  with  American  money?  Pennsylvania  does 
not  hurt  New  York,  nor  Illinois  Dakota.  Why  then, 
with  all  trade  barriers  thrown  down,  should  the  United 
States  hurt  Canada?  And  then  on  «he  other  side,  we 
get  a  market  for  everything  we  grow  at  our  doors.  Reci- 
procity looked  good  to  me.  As  for  imperilling  our  Im- 
perial connections — I  do  not  mean  to  be  offensive  at  all 
—of  course  you  see  what  your  position  amounts  to — 
that  our  financial  interests  would  swamp  our  loyalty,  that 
our  loyalty  is  a  thing  of  dollars  and  cents.  My  idea 
is  that  nothing  in  the  world  from  the  outside  can  ever 
break  the  bonds  that  hold  Canada  to  the  Empire,  and 
after  all,  heart  bonds  are  the  strong  bonds.  Then  in 
regard  to  the  Navy,  I  take  the  other  view  from  you  also. 
I  believe  I  am  a  better  Canadian  than  you,  although  I  am 
not  Canadian  born.  I  think  there's  something  awfully 
fine  in  Canada's  splendid  independence.  She  wants  to  rim 
her  own  ranch,  and  by  George  she  will,  and  everything 
on  it.  She  is  going  to  boss  her  own  job  and  will  allow 
no  one  else  to  butt  in.  I  agree  with  what  you  say  about 
the  Empire.  Canada  ought  to  have  a  Navy  and  quick. 
She  ought  to  take  her  share  of  the  burden  of  defence. 
But  I  agree  here  with  Laurier.  I  believe  her  ships  should 
be  under  her  own  control.  For  after  all  only  the  Cana- 
dian Government  has  the  right  to  speak  the  word  that 
sends  them  out  to  war.  Of  course,  when  once  Canada 
hands  them  over  to  the  Imperial  Navy,  they  will  fall  into 
line  and  take  their  orders  from  the  Admiral  that  com- 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CANADA      143 

mands  the  fleet.  Do  you  know  I  believe  that  Laurier  is 
right  in  sticking  out  for  autonomy." 

"I  am  awfully  interested  in  what  you  say,  and  I  don't 
believe  we  are  so  far  apart.  It's  a  thousand  pities  they 
did  not  keep  together  in  the  Commons.  They  could 
easily  have  worked  it  out." 

"Yes,  it  was  a  beastly  shame,"  replied  Ross. 

"But  isn't  it  rather  queer,"  said  Monteith,  "and  isn't 
it  significant,  too?  Here  I  am,  born  in  Canada,  sticking 
out  against  reciprocity  and  anxious  to  guard  our  Im- 
perial connection  and  ready  to  hand  our  Navy  clean  over 
to  the  Imperial  authorities,  and  on  the  other  hand,  there 
you  are,  born  in  the  Old  Country,  you  don't  appear  to 
care  a  darn  about  Imperial  connections.  You  let  that 
take  care  of  itself,  and  you  stick  up  for  Canadian  auton- 
omy to  the  limit." 

"Well,  for  one  thing,'"'  replied  Ross,  "we  ought  to  get 
together  on  the  Navy  business.  On  the  trade  question 
we  represent,  of  course,  two  schools  of  economics,  but  we 
ought  not  to  mix  up  the  flag  with  our  freight.  This  flag- 
flapping  business  makes  me  sick." 

"There  you  are  again,"  said  Monteith.  "Here  I  am, 
born  right  here  in  the  West,  and  yet  I  believe  in  all  the 
flag-flapping  you  can  bring  about  and  right  here  in  this 
country  too.  Wrhy,  you  know  how  it  is  with  these  for- 
eigners, Ruthenians,  Russians,  Germans,  Poles.  Do  you 
know  that  in  large  sections  of  this  western  country  the 
foreign  vote  controls  the  election  ?  I  believe  we  ought  to 
take  every  means  to  teach  them  to  love  the  flag  and  shout 
for  it  too.  Oh,  1  know  you  Old  Country  chaps.  You 
take  the  flag  for  granted,  and  despise  this  flag-raising 
business.  Let  me  tell  you  something.  I  went  across  to 
Oregon  a  little  while  ago  and  saw  something  that  opened 
my  eyes.  In  a  little  school  in  the  ranching  country  in  a 
settlement  of  mixed  foreigners — Swedes,  Italians,  Ger- 
mans, Jews — they  had  a  great  show  they  called  'saluting 
the  flag.'  Being  Scotch  you  despise  the  whole  thing  as  a 
lot  of  rotten  slushy  sentimentality,  and  a  lot  of  Canadians 


144-  THE  MAJOR 

agree  with  you.  But  let  me  tell  you  how  they  got  me. 
I  watched  those  kids  with  their  foreign  faces,  foreign 
speech — you  ought  to  hear  them  read — Great  Scott, 
you'd  have  to  guess  at  the  language.  Then  came  this 
flag-saluting  business.  A  kid  with  Yiddish  written  all 
over  his  face  was  chosen  to  carry  in  the  flag,  attended  by 
a  bodyguard  for  the  colours,  and  believe  me  they  ap- 
peared as  proud  as  Punch  of  the  honour.  They  placed 
the  flag  in  position,  sang  a  hymn,  had  a  prayer,  then  every 
kid  at  a  signal  shot  out  his  right  hand  toward  the  flag  held 
aloft  by  the  Yiddish  colour  bearer  and  pledged  himself, 
heart,  and  soul,  and  body,  to  his  flag  and  to  his  country. 
The  ceremony  closed  with  the  singing  of  the  national 
hymn,  mighty  poor  poetry  and  mighty  hard  to  sing,  but 
do  you  know  listening  to  those  kids  and  watching  their 
foreign  faces  I  found  myself  with  tears  in  my  eyes  and 
swallowing  like  a  darn  fool.  Ever  since  that  day  I  be- 
lieve in  flag-flapping." 

"Maybe  you  are  right,"  replied  Ross.  "You  know  we 
British  folk  are  so  fearfully  afraid  of  showing  our  feel- 
ings. We  go  along  like  graven  images;  the  more  really 
stirred  up,  the  more  graven  we  appear.  But  suppose  we 
move  over  to  the  platform  where  the  speechifying  is  to 
be  done." 

In  front  of  the  school  building  a  platform  had  been 
erected,  and  before  the  stage,  preparations  had  been  made 
for  seating  the  spectators  as  far  as  the  school  benches  and 
chairs  from  neighbours'  houses  would  go.  The  pro- 
gramme consisted  of  patriotic  songs  and  choruses  with 
contributions  from  the  minstrel  company.  The  main 
events  of  the  evening,  however,  were  to  be  the  addresses, 
the  principal  speech  being  by  the  local  member  for  the 
Dominion  Parliament,  Mr.  J.  H.  Gilchrist,  who  was  to 
be  followed  by  a  local  orator,  Mr.  Alvin  P.  Jones,  a  for- 
mer resident  of  the  United  States,  but  now  an  enthusias- 
tic, energetic  and  most  successful  farmer  and  business 
man,  possessing  one  of  the  best  appointed  ranches  in  Al- 
berta. The  chairman  was,  of  course,  Reverend  Evans 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CANADA      145 

Rhye.  The  parson  was  a  little  Welshman,  fat  and  fussy 
and  fiery  of  temper,  but  his  heart  was  warmly  human,  and 
in  his  ministry  he  manifested  a  religion  of  such  sim- 
plicity and  devotion,  of  such  complete  unselfishness  as 
drew  to  him  the  loyal  affection  of  the  whole  community. 
Even  such  sturdy  Presbyterians  as  McTavish,  the  Rosses, 
Angus  Frazer  and  his  mother,  while  holding  tenaciously 
and  without  compromise  to  their  own  particular  form  of 
doctrine  and  worship,  yielded  Mr.  Rhye,  in  the  ab- 
sence of  a  church  and  minister  of  their  own  denomina- 
tion, a  support  and  esteem  unsurpassed  even  among  his 
own  folk.  Their  attitude  was  considered  to  be  stated 
with  sufficient  clearness  by  Angus  Frazer  in  McTavish' s 
store  ona  day.  "I  am  not  that  sure  about  the  doctrine, 
but  he  has  the  right  kind  of  religion  for  me."  And  Mc- 
Tavish's  reply  was  characteristic :  "Doctrine !  He  has 
as  gude  as  you  can  expec'  frae  thae  Episcopawlian  bud- 
dies. But  he's  a  Godly  man  and  he  aye  pays  his  debts 
whatever,"  which  from  McTavish  was  as  high  praise  as 
could  reasonably  be  expected. 

The  audience  comprised  the  total  population  of  Wolf 
Willow  and  its  vicinity,  as  well  as  visitors  from  the 
country  within  a  radius  of  ten  or  fifteen  miles. 

Mr.  J.  H.  Gilchrist,  M.  P.,  possessed  the  initial  ad- 
vantages of  Scotch  parentage  and  of  early  Scotch  train- 
ing, and  besides  these  he  was  a  farmer  and  knew  the 
farmer's  mind.  To  these  advantages  he  added  those  of  a 
course  of  training  in  Toronto  University  in  the  depart- 
ments of  metaphysics  and  economics,  and  an  additional 
advantage  of  five  years'  pedagogical  experience.  He 
possessed,  moreover,  the  gift  of  lucid  and  forceful 
speech.  With  such  equipment  small  wonder  that  he  was 
in  demand  for  just  such  occasions  as  a  Dominion  Day 
celebration  and  in  just  such  a  community  as  Wolf  Wil- 
low. The  theme  of  his  address  was  Canadian  Citizen- 
ship, Its  Duties  and  Its  Responsibilities,  a  theme  some- 
what worn  but  possessing  the  special  advantage  of  being 
removed  from  the  scope  of  party  politics  while  at  the 


146  THE  MAJOR 

same  time  affording  opportunity  for  the  elucidation  of 
the  political  principles  of  that  party  which  Mr.  Gilchrist 
represented,  and  above  all  for  "a  fervid  patriotic  appeal. 
With  Scotch  disdain  of  all  that  savoured  of  flattery  or 
idle  compliment,  Mr.  Gilchrist  plunged  at  once  into  the 
heart  of  his  subject. 

"First,  the  area  of  Canada.  Forty-six  years  ago, 
when  Canada  became  a  nation,  the  Dominion  possessed 
an  area  of  662,148  square  miles;  to-day  her  area  covers 
3,729,665  square  miles,  one-third  the  total  size  of  the 
British  Empire,  as  large  as  the  continent  of  Europe  with- 
out Russia,  larger  by  over  one  hundred  thousand  square 
miles  than  the  United  States." 

"Hear,  hear,"  cried  an  enthusiastic  voice  from  the 
rear. 

"Aye,  water  and  snow,"  in  a  rasping  voice  from  old 
McTavish. 

"Water  and  snow,"  replied  Mr.  Gilchrist.  "Yes> 
plenty  of  water,  125,000  square  miles  of  it,  and  a  good 
thing  it  is  too  for  Canada.  Some  people  sniff  at  water," 
continued  the  speaker  with  a  humorous  glance  at  McTav- 
ish, "but  even  a  Scotchman  may  with  advantage  acknowl- 
edge the  value  of  a  little  water."  The  crowd  went  off 
into  a  roar  of  laughter  at  the  little  Scotchman  who  was 
supposed  to  be  averse  to  the  custom  of  mixing  too  much 
water  with  his  drink. 

"My  friend,  Mr.  McTavish,"  continued  the  speaker, 
"has  all  a  Scotchman's  hatred  of  bounce  and  brag.  I  am 
not  indulging  in  foolish  brag,  but  I  maintain  that  no 
Canadian  can  rightly  prize  the  worth  of  his  citizenship 
who  does  not  know  something  of  his  country,  something 
of  the  wealth  of  meaning  lying  behind  that  word  'Can- 
ada,' and  I  purpose  to  tell  you  this  evening  something  of 
some  of  Canada's  big  things.  I  shall  speak  of  them 
with  gratitude  and  with  pride,  but  chiefly  with  a  solem- 
nising sense  of  responsibility. 

"As  for  the  'water  and  the  snow'  question:  Let  me 
settle  that  now.  Water  for  a  great  inland  continental 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CANADA       147 

country  like  ours  is  one  of  its  most  valuable  assets  for 
it  means  three  things.  First,  cheap  transportation.  We 
have  the  longest  continuous  waterway  in  the  world,  and 
with  two  small  cuttings  Canada  can  bring  ocean-go- 
ing ships  into  the  very  heart  of  the  continent.  Second, 
water  means  climate  rainfall,  and  there  need  be  no  fear 
of  snow  and  frost  while  great  bodies  of  open  water  lie 
about.  And  third,  water  power.  Do  you  know  that 
Canada  stands  first  in  the  world  in  its  water  power?  It 
possesses  twice  the  water  power  of  the  United  States 
(we  like  to  get  something  in  which  we  can  excel  our 
American  cousins),  and  lying-  near  the  great  centres  of 
population  too.  Let  me  give  you  three  examples.  With- 
in easy  reach  of  Vancouver  on  the  west  coast  there  is 
at  least  350,000  horse  power,  of  which  75,000  is  now 
in  use.  Winnipeg,  the  metropolitan  centre  of  Canada, 
where  more  than  in  any  place  else  can  be  heard  the 
heart  beat  of  the  Dominion,  has  400,000  horse  power 
available,  of  which  she  now  uses  50,000.  Toronto  lies 
within  reach  of  the  great  Niagara,  whose  power  no 
one  can  estimate,  while  along  the  course  of  the  mighty 
St.  Lawrence  towns  and  cities  lie  within  touch  of  water 
power  that  is  beyond  all  calculation  as  yet.  And  do  you 
Alberta  people  realise  that  right  here  in  your  own 
province  the  big  Bassano  Dam  made  possible  by  a  tiny 
stream  taken  from  the  Bow  River  furnishes  irrigation 
power  for  over  a  million  acres?  Perhaps  that  will  do 
about  the  water." 

"Oo  aye,"  said  McTavish,  with  profound  resignation 
in  his  voice.  "Ye'll  dae  wi'  that." 

"And  snow,"  cried  the  speaker.  "We  would  not  will- 
ingly be  without  our  snow  in  Canada.  Snow  mean? 
winter  transport,  better  business,  lumbering,  and  above 
all,  wheat.  Where  you  have  no  snow  and  frost  you  can- 
not get  the  No.  i  hard  wheat.  Don't  quarrel  with  the 
snow.  It  is  Canada's  snow  and  frost  that  gives  her  the 
first  place  in  the  world  in  wheat  production.  So  much 
for  the  water  and  the  snow." 


148  THE  MAJOR 

McTavish  hitched  about  uneasily.  He  wanted  to  have 
the  speaker  get  done  with  this  part  of  his  theme. 

From  Canada's  area  Mr.  Gilchrist  passed  on  to  deal 
with  Canada's  resources,  warning  his  audience  that  the 
greater  part  of  these  resources  was  as  yet  undeveloped 
and  that  he  should  have  to  indulge  in  loud-sounding 
phrases,  but  he  promised  them  that  whatever  words  he 
might  employ  he  would  still  be  unable  to  adequately  pic- 
ture to  their  imagination  the  magnitude  of  Canada's  un- 
developed wealth.  Then  in  a  perfect  torrent  he  poured 
forth  upon  the  people  statistics  setting  forth  Canada's 
possessions  in  mines  and  forests,  in  fisheries,  in  furs,  in 
agricultural  products,  and  especially  in  wheat.  At  the 
word  "wheat"  he  pulled  up  abruptly. 

"Wheat,"  he  exclaimed,  "the  world's  great  food  for 
men.  And  Canada  holds  the  greatest  wheat  farm  in  all 
the  world.  Not  long  ago  Jim  Hill  told  the  Minneapolis 
millers  that  three- fourths  of  the  wheat  lands  on  the 
American  continent  were  north  of  the  boundary  line 
and  that  Canada  could  feed  every  mouth  in  Europe.  Our 
wheat  crop  this  year  will  go  nearly  250,000,000  bushels, 
and  this,  remember,  without  fertilisation  and  with  very 
poor  farming,  for  we  Western  Canadians  are  poor  farm- 
ers. We  owe  something  to  our  American  settlers  who  are 
teaching  us  something  of  the  science  and  art  of  agri- 
culture. Remember,  too,  that  our  crop  comes  from  only 
one-seventh  of  our  wheat  lands.  Had  the  other  six- 
sevenths  been  cropped,  our  wheat  yield  would  be  over 
three  and  a  half  billion  bushels — just  about  the  world's 
supply.  We  should  never  be  content  till  Canada  does 
her  full  duty  to  the  world,  till  Canada  gives  to  the  world 
all  that  is  in,  her  power  to  give.  I  make  no  apology  for 
dwelling  at  such  length  upon  Canada's  extent  and  re- 
sources. 

"Now  let  me  speak  to  you  about  our  privileges  and 
responsibilities  as  citizens  of  this  Dominion.  Our  pos- 
sessions and  material  things  will  be  our  destruction  un- 
less we  use  them  not  only  for  our  own  good,  but  for 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CANADA       149 

the  good  of  the  world.  And  these  possessions  we  can 
never  properly  use  till  we  learn  to  prize  those  other  pos- 
sessions of  heart  and  mind  and  soul." 

With  a  light  touch  upon  the  activities  of  Canadians, 
in  the  development  of  their  country  in  such  matters  as 
transportation  and  manufactures,  he  passed  to  a  con- 
sideration of  the  educational,  social,  industrial,  political 
and  religious  privileges  which  Canadian  citizens  enjoyed, 

"These  are  the  things,"  he  cried,  "that  have  to  dc 
with  the  nation's  soul.  These  are  the  things  that  deter- 
mine the  quality  of  a  people  and  their  place  among  the 
nations,  their  influence  in  the  world.  In  the  matter  of 
education  it  is  the  privilege  of  every  child  in  Canada  to 
receive  a  sound  training,  not  only  in  the  elementary 
branches  of  study,  but  even  in  higher  branches  as  well. 
In  Canada  social  distinctions  are  based  more  upon  worth 
than  upon  wealth,  more  upon  industry  and  ability  than 
upon  blue  blood.  Nowhere  in  the  world  is  it  more  pro- 
foundly true  that 

"  'A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that ; 
The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp; 
The  man's  the  gowd  for  a'  that.' ' 

At  this  old  McTavish  surprised  the  audience  and  him- 
self by  crying  out,  "Hear-r-r,  hear-r-r,"  glancing  round 
defiantly  as  if  daring  anyone  to  take  up  his  challenge. 

"In  matters  of  religion,''  continued  the  speaker,  "the 
churches  of  Canada  hold  a  position  of  commanding  in- 
fluence, not  because  of  any  privilege!,  accorded  them  by 
the  State,  nor  because  of  any  adventitious  or  meretricious 
aids,  but  solely  because  of  their  ability  to  minister  to 
the  social  and  spiritual  needs  of  the  people." 

Briefly  the  speaker  proceeded  to  touch  upon  some  char- 
acteristic features  of  Canadian  political  institutions. 

"Nowhere  in  the  world,"  he  said,  "do  the  people  of 
a  country  enjoy  a  greater  measure  of  freedom.  We  be- 
long to  a  great  world  Empire.  This  connection  we  value 


150  THE  MAJOR 

and  mean  to  cherish,  but  our  Imperial  relations  do  not 
in  the  slightest  degree  infringe  upon  our  liberties.  The 
Government  of  Canada  is  autonomous.  Forty-six  years 
ago  the  four  provinces  of  Canada  were  united  into  a 
single  Dom'nion  with  representative  Government  of  the 
most  complete  kind.  Canada  is  a  Democracy,  and  in  no 
Democracy  in  the  world  does  the  will  of  the  people  find 
more  immediate  and  more  complete  expression  than  in 
our  Dominion.  With  us  political  liberty  is  both  a  heri- 
tage and  an  achievement,  a  heritage  from  our  forefa- 
thers who  made  this  Empire  what  it  is,  and  an  achieve- 
ment of  our  own  people  led  by  great  and  wise  states- 
men. This  priceless  possession  of  liberty  we  shall  never 
surrender,  for  the  nation  that  surrenders  its  liberty, 
no  matter  what  other  possessions  it  may  retain,  has  lost 
its  soul." 

The  address  concluded  with  an  appeal  to  the  people 
for  loyal  devotion  to  the  daily  duties  of  life  in  their  va- 
rious relations  as  members  of  families,  members  of  the 
community,  citizens  of  the  Province  and  of  the  Domin- 
ion. In  the  applause  that  followed  the  conclusion  of 
this  address,  even  old  McTavish  was  observed  to  con- 
tribute his  share  with  something  amounting  almost  to 
enthusiasm. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   SHADOW   OF   WAR 

IT  was  finally  agreed  that  a  part  at  least  of  the  respon- 
sibility for  the  disturbance  which  marred  the  har- 
mony of  the  Dominion  Day  celebration  at  Wolf  Willow 
upon  this  occasion  must  rest  on  the  shoulders  of  Mr. 
Alvin  P.  Jones.  The  impressive  presentation  by  Mr. 
Gilchrist  of  Canada's  greatness  and  the  splendour  of  her 
future  appeared  to  stimulate  Mr.  Jones  to  unusual  flights 
of  oratory.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  Mr.  Jones' 
oratory  was  characterised  by  such  extraordinary  physical 
vigour,  if  not  violence,  and  by  such  a  fluency  of  orotund 
and  picturesque  speech,  that  with  the  multitude  sound 
passed  for  eloquence  and  platitudes  on  his  lips  achieved 
the  dignity  of  profound  wisdom.  Building  upon  the 
foundation  laid  by  the  previous  speaker,  Mr.  Jones  pro- 
ceeded to  extol  the  grandeur  of  the  Dominion,  the  won- 
ders of  her  possessions,  the  nobility  of  her  people,  the 
splendour  of  her  institutions,  the  glory  of  her  future. 
He  himself  was  not  by  birth  a  Canadian,  but  so  power- 
ful a  spell  had  the  Dominion  cast  over  him  that  he  had 
become  a  Canadian  by  adoption.  Proud  of  his  Ameri- 
can birth  and  citizenship,  he  was  even  more  proud  of 
his  Canadian  citizenship.  He  saw  before  him  a  large 
number  of  American  citizens  who  had  come  to  throw  in 
their  lot  with  the  Dominion  of  Canada.  He  believed 
they  had  done  a  wise  thing,  and  that  among  the  most 
loyal  citizens  of  this  Dominion  none  would  be  found 
more  devoted  to  the  material  welfare  and  the  spiritual 
well-being  of  Canada  than  those  who  came  from  the 
other  side  of  the  line.  He  saw  a  number  of  those  who* 

151 


152  THE  MAJOR 

were  sometimes  improperly  called  foreigners.  He  said 
'"improperly"  because  whatever  their  origin,  whether 
Ruthenian,  Swede,  French,  German,  or  whatever  their 
race  might  be,  here  they  were  simply  Canadians  with 
all  the  rights  of  Canadian  citizenship  assured  to  them. 
He  was  glad  to  see  so  many  of  his  German  friends 
present.  They  represent  a  great  nation  whose  achieve- 
ments in  every  department  of  human  activity,  in  learn- 
ing, in  industrial  enterprise,  in  commerce,  were  the  envy 
and  admiration  of  the  world  (excursus  here  in  glorifica- 
tion of  the  great  German  people)  :  To  these,  his  Ger- 
man fellow  citizens,  he  would  say  that  no  matter  how 
deep  their  devotion  to  the  Vaterland  (Mr.  Jones  pro- 
nounced it  with  a  "v")  he  knew  they  would  be  loyal 
citizens  of  Canada.  The  German  Empire  had  its  dif- 
ferences and  disagreements  with  Great  Britain,  the 
American  Republic  has  had  the  same,  and  indeed  it  was 
possible  that  there  were  a  number  present  who  might 
not  cherish  any  very  passionate  regard  for  the  wealthy, 
complaisant,  self-contained,  somewhat  slow-going  old 
gentleman,  John  Bull.  But  here  in  Canada,  we  were  all 
Canadians!  First,  last  and  all  the  time,  Canadians  (great 
applause).  Whatever  might  be  said  of  other  countries, 
their  wealth,  their  power,  their  glory,  Canada  was  good 
enough  for  him  (more  applause,  followed  by  a  further 
elaboration  of  Canada's  vast  resources,  etc.,  etc.). 
Canada's  future  was  unclouded  by  the  political  compli- 
cations and  entanglements  of  the  older  countries  in 
Europe.  For  one  hundred  years  they  had  been  at  peace 
with  the  Republic  south  of  that  imaginary  line  which  de- 
limited the  boundaries,  but  which  did  not  divide  the 
hearts  of  these  two  peoples  (great  applause).  For  his 
part,  while  he  rejoiced  in  the  greatness  of  the  British 
Empire  he  believed  that  Canada's  first  duty  was  to  her- 
self, to  the  developing  here  of  a  strong  and  sturdy  na- 
tional spirit.  Canada  for  Canadians,  Canada  first,  these 
were  the  motives  that  had  guided  his  life  both  in  public 
service  and  as  a  private  citizen  (loud  applause).  In  this 


THE  SHADOW  OF  WAR         153 

country  there  was  a  place  for  all,  no  matter  from  what 
country  they  came,  a  place  for  the  Ruthenian  (enum- 
eration of  the  various  European  and  Asiatic  states  from 
which  potential  citizens  of  Canada  had  come).  Let  us 
join  hands  and  hearts  in  building  up  a  great  empire 
where  our  children,  free  from  old-world  entanglements, 
free  to  develop  in  our  own  way  our  own  institutions 
(eloquent  passages  on  freedom)  in  obedience  to  laws  of 
our  own  making,  defended  by  the  strong  arms  and  brave 
hearts  of  our  own  sons,  aided  (here  the  speaker  permit- 
ted himself  a  smile  of  gentle  humour)  by  the  mighty  wing 
of  the  American  eagle  (references  to  the  Monroe  Doc- 
trine and  its  protection  of  Canada's  shores)  we  shall  abide 
in  peace  and  security  from  all  aggression  and  ail  alarm. 
(Thunderous  and  continued  applause,  during  which  the 
speaker  resumed  his  seat.) 

It  was  old  McTavish  who  precipitated  the  trouble. 
The  old  Highlander  belonged  to  a  family  that  boasted  a 
long  line  of  fighting  forbears.  Ever  since  The  Forty- 
five  when  the  German  king  for  the  time  occupying  the 
English  throne  astutely  diverted  the  martial  spirit  of  the 
Scottish  clans  from  the  business  of  waging  war  against 
his  own  armies,  their  chief  occupation,  to  that  of  fight- 
ing his  continental  foes,  The  McTavish  was  to  be  found 
ever  in  the  foremost  ranks  of  British  men-of-war,  joy- 
ously doing  battle  for  his  clan  and  for  his  king,  who,  if 
the  truth  were  told,  he  regarded  with  scant  loyalty.  Like 
so  many  of  the  old  timers  in  western  Canada,  this  par- 
ticular McTavish  had  been  at  one  time  a  servant  of  the 
Hudson  Bay  Company  and  as  such  had  done  his  part 
in  the  occupation,  peaceful  and  otherwise,  of  the  vast 
territories  administered  by  that  great  trading  company. 
In  his  fiery  fighting  soul  there  burned  a  passionate  loy- 
alty to  the  name  and  fame  of  the  land  of  his  birth,  and 
a  passionate  pride  in  the  Empire  under  whose  flag  the 
Company's  ships  had  safely  sailed  the  northern  seas  and 
had  safely  traded  in  these  vast  wild  lands  for  nearly  three 
hundred  years.  Deep  as  this  loyalty  and  pride  in  the  soul 


154  THE  MAJOR 

of  him  there  lay  a  cold  suspicion  of  the  Yankee.  He  had 
met  him  in  those  old  clays  of  trade  war,  had  suffered  and 
had  seen  his  Company  suffer  from  his  wiles,  and  finally 
had  been  compelled  to  witness  with  bitter  but  unavailing 
hate  the  steady  encroachment  of  those  rival  traders  upon 
the  ancient  prerogatives  and  preserves  of  his  own  Com- 
pany, once  the  sole  and  undisputed  lords  of  the  northern 
half  of  the  American  continent.  In  the  person  of  Mr. 
Alvin  P.  Jones,  McTavish  saw  the  representative  of  those 
ancient  enemies  of  his,  and  in  the  oration  to  which  he 
had  just  listened  he  fancied  he  detected  a  note  of  disloy- 
alty to  the  flag,  a  suggestion  of  a  break  in  the  allegiance 
of  Canada  to  the  Empire,  and  worst  of  all,  a  hint  that 
Canada  might  safely  depend  for  protection  upon  some- 
thing other  than  the  naval  power  which  had  guarded 
the  shores  of  his  country  these  many  years  from  enemy 
invasion.  These  things  wrought  in  old  McTavish  an 
uncontrollable  anger,  and  no  sooner  had  the  tumultuous 
applause  died  away  than  he  was  on  his  feet  and  in  a 
high,  rasping  voice  demanding  audience. 

"Will  ye  per-r-rmit  me,  Mr.  Chair-r-rman,  a  few 
words  in  regar-r-d  to  the  remarkable  address  to  which 
we  haf  listened?"  Permission  was  graciously  granted 
by  the  chairman,  surprise  and  complaisant  delight  man- 
tling the  steaming  face  of  Mr.  Alvin  P.  Jones,  albeit  at 
his  heart  there  lurked  a.  certain  uneasiness,  for  on  more 
than  one  occasion  had  he  suffered  under  the  merciless 
heckling  of  the  little  Scotchman. 

"  'Tis  a  wonderful  address  we  haf  been  hearing,  an 
eloquent  address.  Some  of  it  iss  true  an*  some  of  it  iss 
lies  [commotion  in  the  audience — the  smile  on  Mr.  Alvin 
P.  Jones's  face  slightly  less  expansive].  The  speaker 
has  told  us  about  Canada,  its  great  extent,  its  vast  r-r-re- 
sources.  Some  of  us  haf  known  about  these  things  while 
yet  his  mother  was  still  sucking  him  [snickers  of  delight 
from  the  younger  members  of  the  audience  and  cries  of, 
*Go  to  it,  Mack],  'Tis  a  great  Dominion  whatefer  and 
will  be  a  gr-r-reater  Dominion  yet  so  lang  as  it  keeps  to 


THE  SHADOW  OF  WAR         155 

right  ways.  He  has  told  us  of  the  mighty  achievements 
of  Cher-r-rmany.  I  will  jist  be  askin'  him  what  has 
Cher-r-rmany  done  for  this  country  or  for  any  country 
but  her  ainsel?  She  has  cluttered  us  up  wi'  pot-metal, 
cutlery  an'  such  things,  an'  cheap  cloth  that  ye  can  put 
yer  finger  through,  an'  that  will  be  done  in  a  month's 
wear-r-ring.  Musick,  ye'll  be  sayin' !  Musick !  I  was  in 
Calgary  not  long  since.  They  took  me  to  what  they  will 
be  callin'  a  music-kale  [delighted  roars  of  laughter 
from  the  audience].  A  music-kale  indeed!  I  haf 
hear-r-rd  of  cauld  kale  an'  het  kale,  of  kale  porridge  an1 
kale  brose,  but  nefer  haf  I  hear-r-rd  before  of  a  music- 
kale.  Bless  me,  man,  I  cud  make  neither  head  nor  tail 
o'  it,  and  they  wer-r-re  no  better  themsel's.  They  had 
printed  notes  about  it  an'  a  bit  man  makin'  a  speech  about 
it,  but  not  one  of  them  knew  a  thing  about  the  hale  hypo- 
theck.  Musick,  quare  musick  I  call  it!  If  it  is  musick 
yer  wantin',  gif  me  Angus  there  wi'  the  pipes  [wild 
cheers  testifying  to  Angus's  popularity]  or  the  master-r-r 
himsel'  an'  the  young  lady  here  [this  with  a  courteous 
bow  to  Miss  Switzer]  wi'  their  feeddles.  That's  what  I 
will  be  callin'  musick.  An'  lairnin'!  Lairnin'  that  will 
lay  sacraleegious  hands  upon  the  Sacred  Word,  an' 
tear-r-r  it  to  bits.  That  like  thing  the  Cher-r-rman  lairnin' 
is  doin',  and  ye  can  ask  Mr.  Rhye  yonder.  An'  other 
things  the  Cher-r-rmans  are  doin'  that  keep  us  all  from 
restin'  quiet  in  our  beds.  Let  them  come  her-r-re  to  us  if 
they  will.  Let  them  come  from  all  the  countries  of  the 
ear-r-rth.  We  will  share  wi'  them  what  we  haf,  provided 
they  will  be  behavin'  themsel's  and  mindin'  their  peezi- 
ness.  But  this  man  is  sayin'  somethin'  more.  He  is 
tellin'  us  how  safe  we  are,  an'  that  the  great  Republic 
south  o'  us  will  be  guar-r-rdin'  us  frae  our  enemies.  I 
doubt  it  will  be  the  fox  guar-r-rdin'  the  chicken  frae  the 
weasel.  Now  I'll  ask  this  gentleman  what  it  is  that  has 
guar-r-rded  these  shores  for  the  past  two  hundred  and 
fifty  year-r-rs?  I  will  tell  him — the  Br-r-ritish  Navy. 
What  has  kept  the  peace  of  Europe  once  an'  again?  The 


156  THE  MAJOR 

Br-r-ritish  Navy.  Aye,  what  has  protected  America  not 
once  or  twice  frae  her  enemies?  The  Br-r-ritish  Navy, 
an'  that  same  Br-r-ritish  Navy  is  gude  enough  fer  me." 

The  tumultuous  din  that  followed  the  conclusion  of 
the  cantankerous  little  Highlander's  speech  was  beyond 
all  words,  but  before  the  chairman  could  get  to  his  feet, 
through  the  uproar  a  voice  strident  with  passion  was 
demanding  a  hearing.  "Mr.  Ernest  Switzer  has  the 
floor,"  said  the  chairman. 

The  young  man's  face  was  white  and  his  voice  shaking 
when  he  began.  "Mr.  Chairman,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen : 
I  stand  here  to  claim  the  fair  play  that  you  say  is  British 
for  myself  and  for  rny  race.  I  am  a  Canadian  citizen. 
I  was  born  in  America,  but  my  blood  is  German.  As  a 
Canadian  citizen,  as  an  American  by  birth,  as  a  German 
by  blood,  I  have  been  insulted  to-night,  and  I  demand  the 
right  to  reply  to  the  man  who  has  insulted  me.  There 
are  Canadians  here  to  guard  their  own  honour;  the 
Americans  can  be  trusted  to  protect  themselves.  Ger- 
many is  not  here  to  refute  the  slanders  uttered  against 
her,  but  I  claim  the  honour  to  speak  for  that  great  na- 
tion, for  she  is  a  great  nation.  There  is  none  greater. 
There  is  none  so  great  in  the  world  to-day."  The  young 
man's  voice  rang  6ut  with  passionate  conviction,  his 
pale  set  face,  his  blue  eyes  flaming  with  rage  proclaimed 
the  intensity  of  his  emotion.  Before  his  flaming  passion 
the  audience  was  subdued  into  a  silence  tense  and  pro- 
found. "What  has  Germany  done  for  the  world?  this 
man  asks.  I  would  like  to  ask  in  reply  where  he  has  lived 
for  the  last  twenty-five  years,  and  if  during  those  years 
he  has  read  anything  beyond  his  local  newspaper  ?  What 
has  Germany  done  for  the  world  ?  Germany  has  shown 
the  way  to  the  world,  even  to  America,  in  every  activity 
of  life,  in  industrial  organisation,  in  scientific  inquiry  in 
the  laboratory  and  in  the  practical  application  of  science 
to  every-day  life.  Where  do  your  philosophers  go  for 
their  training?  To  German  universities  where  they  seek 
to  understand  the  philosophy  of  the  immortal  Emanuel 


THE  SHADOW  OF  WAR         157 

Kant.  Where  in  the  world  has  social  reform  reached  its 
highest  achievement?  In  Germany.  Where  do  you  go 
for  your  models  for  municipal  government?  To  Ger- 
many. Mention  any  department  of  human  enterprise 
to-day  and  in  that  department  Germany  stands  easily  in 
the  lead.  This  man  asks  what  has  kept  Europe  at  peace 
all  these  years,  and  suggests  the  British  Navy,  the  one 
constant  menace  to  the  peace  of  Europe  and  to  the  free- 
dom of  the  seas.  No,  if  you  ask  who  has  kept  the  peace 
of  Europe  I  will  tell  you.  The  German  Kaiser,  Wilhelm 
II.  To  him  and  to  the  Empire  of  which  he  is  the  glori- 
ous head  Europe  owes  its  peace  and  the  world  its  great- 
est blessings  to-day." 

When  Switzer  sat  down  a  half  a  dozen  men  were  on 
their  feet  demanding  to  be  heard.  Above  the  din  a 
quiet,  but  penetrating  voice  was  distinguished.  "Mr. 
Romayne  has  the  floor,"  said  the  Reverend  Mr.  Rhye, 
who  himself  was  tingling  with  desire  for  utterance.  Mr. 
Romayne's  appearance  and  voice  suggested  the  boredom 
of  one  who  felt  the  whole  thing  to  be  rather  a  nuisance. 

"Ladies  and  Gentlemen,"  he  began,  "I  must  apologise 
for  venturing  to  speak  at  all,  having  so  recently  come  to 
this  country,  though  I  am  glad  to  say  that  I  have  been 
received  with  such  cordial  kindness  that  I  do  not  feel 
myself  a  stranger." 

"You're  all  right,  Jack,"  cried  a  voice.  "You're  right 
at  home." 

"I  am  at  home,"  said  Jack,  "and  that  is  one  thing  that 
makes  me  able  to  speak.  Few  of  you  can  understand  the 
feeling  that  comes  to  one  who,  travelling  six  thousand 
miles  away  from  the  heart  of  the  Empire,  finds  himself 
still  among  his  own  folk  and  under  the  same  old  flag. 
Nor  can  I  express  the  immense  satisfaction  and  pride 
that  come  to  me  when  I  find  here  in  this  new  world  a 
virile  young  nation  offering  a  welcome  to  men  of  all  na- 
tionalities, an  equal  opportunity  to  make  home  and  for- 
tune for  themselves,  and  find  also  these  various  nation- 
alities uniting  in  the  one  purpose  of  building  solid  and 


158  THE  MAJOR 

secure  an  outpost  of  the  Empire  to  which  we  all  belong. 
I  rise  chiefly  to  say  two  things.  The  first  is  that  if  Ger- 
many continues  in  her  present  mind  she  will  be  at  war 
with  our  country  within  a  very  short  time.  The  young 
man  who  has  just  sat  down  assures  us  that  Germany  is 
a  great  country.  Let  us  at  once  frankly  grant  this  fact, 
for  indeed  it  is  a  fact.  Whether  she  is  as  wonderful  or 
as  great  as  she  thinks  herself  to  be  may  be  doubted.  But 
it  is  of  importance  to  know  that  the  opinion  stated  here 
to-night  is  the  opinion  held  by  the  whole  body  of  the 
German  people  from  the  Kaiser  to  the  lowest  peasant 
in  the  Empire.  The  universal  conviction  throughout 
that  Empire  is  that  not  only  is  Germany  the  greatest 
nation  on  earth,  but  that  it  has  a  divine  mission  to 
confer  her  own  peculiar  quality  of  civilisation  upon  the 
other  nations  of  Europe,  and  indeed  upon  the  whole 
world.  We  might  not  quarrel  with  Germany  for  cher- 
ishing this  pleasing  opinion  in  regard  to  herself,  but 
when  this  opinion  is  wrought  into  a  purpose  to  domi- 
inate  the  whole  world  in  order  that  this  mission  might  be 
accomplished  the  thing  takes  on  a  somewhat  serious 
aspect.  Let  me  repeat,  Germany  is  a  great  nation,  mar- 
vellously organised  in  every  department  of  her  life,  agri- 
cultural, manufacturing,  educational,  commercial.  But 
to  what  intent?  What  is  the  purpose  dominating  this 
marvellous  organisation?  The  purpose,  Ladies  and 
Gentlemen,  is  war.  The  supreme  industry  of  the  Ger- 
man nation  is  the  manufacturing  of  a  mighty  war  ma- 
chine. I  challenge  the  gentleman  who  has  just  spoken 
to  deny  either  of  these  statements,  that  Germany  believes 
that  she  has  a  definite  mission  to  lift  up  the  other  nations 
of  Europe  to  her  own  high  level  and  that  to  fulfil  this 
mission  it  is  necessary  that  she  be  in  a  position  of  con- 
trol." The  speaker  paused  for  a  moment  or  two.  "He 
cannot  deny  these  because  he  knows  they  are  true.  The 
second  thing  I  wish  to  say  is  that  the  Kaiser  means  war 
and  is  waiting  only  for  the  favourable  moment.  I  believe 
it  is  correct  to  say  that  for  many  years  after  his  acces- 


THE  SHADOW  OF  WAR         159 

sion  to  the  throne  he  used  his  influence  on  the  side  of 
peace,  but  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  for  some 
years  past  he  has  cherished  another  purpose,  the  pur- 
pose of  war." 

At  this  point  Switzer  sprang  to  his  feet  and  cried, 
"I  challenge  the  truth  of  that  statement.  Modern  Eu- 
ropean history  proves  it  to  be  false,  and  again  and  again 
the  Kaiser  has  prevented  war.  So  much  is  this  the  case 
that  the  trustees  of  the  only  European  fund  that  rec- 
ognises distinguished  service  in  the  interests  of  peace 
bestowed  upon  the  Kaiser  the  Nobel  Prize." 

"That  is  quite  true,"  replied  Mr.  Romayne,  "But  let 
me  recall  to  this  )roung  man's  mind  a  few  facts.  In  1875 
Bismarck  was  determined  to  make  war  upon  France. 
He  was  prevented  by  the  united  action  of  England  and 
Russia.  Germany  made  the  same  attempt  in  '87  and  '91. 
In  1905  so  definite  was  the  threat  of  war  that  France 
avoided  it  only  by  dismissing  her  war  minister,  Delcasse. 
Perhaps  my  young  friend  remembers  the  Casablanca  in- 
cident in  1908  where  again  the  Kaiser  threatened  France 
with  war.  Indeed,  for  the  last  twenty  years,  even  while 
he  was  doubtless  anxious  to  maintain  peace,  he  has  been 
rattling  his  sword  in  his  scabbard  and  threatening  war 
against  the  various  nations  of  Europe.  In  most  of  these 
cases  even  when  he  wanted  peace  he  bluffed  with  threats 
of  war.  Then  came  the  Agadir  incident  in  1911  when 
once  more  the  Kaiser  bluffed.  But  Great  Britain  called 
his  bluff  that  time  and  the  great  War  Lord  had  to  back 
down  with  great  loss  of  prestige  not  only  with  his  own 
people  but  with  the  whole  of  Europe.  It  hurt  the  Kaiser 
to  think  that  any  nation  in  Europe  should  move  in  any 
direction  without  his  consent.  Agadir  taught  him  that  he 
must  quit  bluffing  or  make  up  his  mind  to  fight." 

Again  Switzer  was  upon  his  feet.  "This  is  a  slander- 
ous falsehood,"  he  cried.  "How  does  this  man  know?" 

"I  happened  to  be  there,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 

"How  do  we  know  ?"  again  cried  Switzer. 


160  THE  MAJOR 

"Will  you  kindly  repeat  that  remark?"  said  Mr.  Ro 
mayne  quietly. 

"I  believe  this  statement,"  shouted  Switzer,  "to  be  a 
slanderous  falsehood." 

"If  you  accuse  me  of  falsehood,"  said  Romayne  even 
more  quietly,  "that  is  a  matter  of  which  we  shall  not  dis- 
cuss here,  but  later.  But  these  statements  that  I  have 
made  are  history.  All  Germany  knows,  all  Europe 
knows,  that  at  Agadir  the  Kaiser  backed  down.  He  was 
not  ready  to  fight,  and  he  lost  prestige  by  it.  When  Italy, 
one  of  the  Triple  Alliance,  went  to  war  against  Turkey 
without  consulting  him,  this  lowered  still  further  Ger- 
man prestige.  In  the  late  Balkan  War  Germany  was 
again  humiliated.  She  backed  the  wrong  horse.  Her 
protege  and  pupil  in  war,  Turkey,  was  absolutely  beaten. 
These  things  convince  me  that  Germany  knows  that  her 
hope  of  dominating  Europe  is  rapidly  waning,  and  she 
believes  that  this  hope  can  only  be  realised  by  war  and, 
therefore,  I  repeat  that  the  Kaiser  and  his  people  are  only 
waiting  a  favourable  moment  to  launch  war  upon  Europe 
and  more  particularly  upon  the  British  Empire,  which, 
along  with  the  great  American  democracy,  stands  be- 
tween her  and  the  realisation  of  her  dream." 

"The  British  Empire!"  cried  Switzer  scornfully  as 
Romayne  took  his  seat,  "the  British  Empire !  at  the  first 
stern  blow  this  ramshackle  empire  will  fall  to  pieces. 
Then  Great  Britain  will  be  forced  to  surrender  her  rob- 
ber hold  upon  these  great  free  states  which  she  has  stolen 
and  which  she  now  keeps  in  chains."  (Cries  of  "Never !" 
"Rot!"  "Shut  your  trap!")  Switzer  sprang  to  his  feet 
and,  shaking  his  fist  in  their  faces,  cried :  "I  know  what  I 
am  saying.  This  you  will  see  before  many  months  have 
passed." 

Again  Romayne  rose  to  his  feet  and  waited  till  a  silence 
fell  upon  the  audience.  "Ladies  and  Gentlemen,"  he 
said  solemnly,  "this  German  officer  knows  what  he  is 
talking  about.  That  Germany  within  a  few  months  will 
make  her  supreme  attempt  to  smash  the  British  Empire 


THE  SHADOW  OF  WAR         161 

I  believe  is  certain.  I  am  equally  certain  that  the  result 
of  that  attempt  will  not  be  what  this  gentleman  antici- 
pates and  desires." 

For  some  moments  the  silence  remained  unbroken. 
Then  young  Monteith  sprang  to  his  feet  and  led  the  au- 
dience in  a  succession  of  mad  cheers  that  indicated  the 
depth  of  passion  to  which  they  were  stirred.  After  the 
cheering  had  subsided  Larry  rose  and  in  a  slightly 
querulous  tone  and  with  a  humorous  smile  upon  his  face 
he  said: 

"Mr.  Chairman,  don't  you  think  we  are  becoming  un- 
necessarily serious?  And  are  there  not  certain  things 
on  which  we  all  agree?  First  that  we  are  all  Canadians, 
first,  last  and  all  the  time.  Secondly,  that  we  greatly 
respect  and  admire  our  American  cousins  and  we  desire 
only  better  mutual  acquaintance  for  our  mutual  good. 
Third,  that  we  are  loyal  to  and  immensely  proud  of  our 
Empire,  and  we  mean  to  stick  to  it.  And  fourth,  that 
Germany  is  a  great  country  and  has  done  great  things 
for  the  world.  As  to  the  historical  questions  raised, 
these  are  not  settled  by  discussion  but  by  reliable  historic 
documents.  As  to  the  prophecies  made,  we  can  accept  or 
reject  them  as  we  choose.  Personally  I  confess  that  I 
am  unable  to  get  up  any  real  interest  in  this  German 
war  menace.  I  believe  Germany  has  more  sense,  not 
to  say  proper  Christian  feeling,  than  to  plunge  herself 
and  the  world  into  war.  I  move,  Mr.  Chairman,  that  we 
pass  to  the  next  order  of  business." 

"Hear!  Hear!"  cried  some.  "Go  on  with  the  pro- 
gramme." 

"No !  No !"  said  others.    "Let's  have  it  out." 

"Mr.  Chairman,"  said  Hec  Ross,  rising  to  his  feet, 
"this  thing  is  better  than  any  silly  old  programme,  let's 
have  it  out." 

But  the  chairman,  much  against  his  Inclination,  for  he 
was  a  fighter,  ruled  otherwise.  "The  differences  that 
separate  us  from  one  another  here  to-night  are  net  differ- 
ences that  can  be  settled  by  argument.  They  are  differ- 


162  THE  MAJOR 

ences  that  are  due  partly  to  our  history  and  partly  to 
the  ideals  which  we  cherish.  We  shall  go  on  with  the 
programme." 

At  first  the  people  were  in  no  mood  for  mere  amuse- 
ment. They  had  been  made  to  face  for  a  brief  moment 
the  great  and  stern  reality  of  war.  The  words  and  more 
the  manner  of  Jack  Romayne  had  produced  a  deep  sense 
in  their  minds  of  the  danger  of  a  European  conflagra- 
tion, and  the  ominous  words  of  the  young  German  spoken 
as  from  intimate  knowledge  only  served  to  deepen  the 
impression  made  by  Romayne.  But  the  feeling  was 
transitory,  and  speedily  the  possibility  of  war  was  dis- 
missed as  unthinkable.  The  bogey  of  a  German  war 
was  familiar  and  therefore  losing  its  power  to  disturb 
them.  So  after  two  or  three  musical  numbers  had  been 
given  the  audience  had  settled  back  into  its  normal  state 
of  mind  which  accepted  peace  as  the  natural  and  per- 
manent condition  for  the  world. 

The  entertainment  would  have  come  to  a  perfectly 
proper  and  harmonious  close  had  it  not  been  for  the  un- 
restrained exuberance  of  Sam's  humorous  qualifies  on 
the  one  hand  and  the  complete  absence  of  sense  of  hu- 
mour in  Ernest  Switzer  on  the  other.  The  final  number 
on  the  programme,  which  was  to  be  a  series  of  humorous 
character  sketches,  had  been  left  entirely  in  Sam's  hands 
and  consisted  of  a  trilogy  representing  the  character- 
istics as  popularly  conceived  of  the  French  Canadian 
habitant,  the  humorous  Irishman  and  the  obese  Teuton. 
Sam's  early  association  with  the  vaudeville  stage  had 
given  him  a  certain  facility  in  the  use  of  stage  properties 
and  theatrical  paraphernalia  generally,  and  this  combined 
with  a  decided  gift  of  mimicry  enabled  him  to  produce  a 
really  humorous  if  somewhat  broadly  burlesqued  repro- 
duction of  these  characters.  In  the  presentation  of  his 
sketch  Sam  had  reserved  to  the  close  his  representation 
of  the  obese  Teuton.  The  doings  of  this  Teuton,  while 
sending  the  audience  into  roars  of  laughter,  had  quite  a 
different  effect  upon  Switzer,  who  after  a  few  moments 


of  wrathful  endurance  made  toward  the  rear  of  the  audi- 
ence. 

Meantime  the  obese  Teuton  has  appeared  upon  the 
stage  in  a  famished  condition  demanding  vociferously 
and  plaintively  from  the  world  at  large  sausage.  But  no 
sausage  is  available.  At  this  point  a  stray  dog  wanders 
upon  the  stage.  With  a  cry  of  delight  the  famished  Teu- 
ton seizes  the  unfortunate  cur  and  joyously  announcing 
that  now  sausage  he  will  have,  forthwith  disappears.  Im- 
mediately from  the  wings  arise  agonised  canine  howlings 
with  which  mingles  the  crashing  of  machinery.  Gradu- 
ally the  howlings  die  into  choking  silence  while  the  crash 
of  the  machinery  proceeds  for  a  few  moments  longer. 
Thereupon  reappears  the  Teuton,  ecstatic  and  triumphant, 
bearing  with  him  a  huge  sausage,  which  he  proceeds  to 
devour  with  mingled  lamentations  over  his  departed 
"hund"  and  raptures  over  its  metamorphosed  condition. 
In  the  midst  of  this  mingled  lamentation  and  rapture 
is  heard  in  the  distance  upon  a  mouth  organ  band  the 
sound  of  the  German  national  air.  The  Teuton  is 
startled,  drops  his  sausage  upon  the  stage  and  exclaiming 
"Der  Kronprinz,"  hastily  beats  a  retreat. 

At  the  mention  of  this  august  name  Switzer  disappears 
from  the  rear  of  the  audience  and  makes  his  way  to  the 
back  of  the  stage.  In  the  meantime,  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  organs  and  drums,  appears  upon  the  stage  no  less 
a  personage  than  "der  Kronprinz,"  to  the  reproduction 
of  whose  features  Sam's  peculiar  facial  appearance  ad- 
mirably lends  itself.  From  this  point  the  action  proceeds 
with  increased  rapidity.  No  sooner  had  "der  Kronprinz," 
who  is  also  in  a  famished  condition,  appeared  upon  the 
stage  than  his  eyes  light  upon  the  sausage.  With  a  cry 
of  delight  he  seizes  it  and  proceeds  ravenously  to  devour 
it.  But  at  the  first  mouthful  renewed  howlings  arise. 
"Der  Kronprinz,"  in  a  state  of  intense  excitement,  drops 
his  sausage  and  begins  a  wild  search  in  the  corners  of 
the  stage  and  in  the  wings  for  the  source  of  the  uproar. 
The  sausage  thus  abandoned,  aided  by  an  invisible  cord, 


164  THE  MAJOR 

wabbles  off  the  stage  before  the  eyes  of  the  wondering 
and  delighted  audience.  Thereafter  "der  Kronprinz"  re- 
appears with  his  "hund"  under  his  arm  and  begins  an 
active  and  distracted  search  for  his  precious  sausage. 
Disappointed  in  his  search  for  the  sausage  and  rendered 
desperate  by  his  famished  condition,  he  seizes  the 
wretched  cur  and  begins  gnawing  at  the  tail  and  retires 
from  the  scene,  accompanied  by  the  howls  of  the  unhappy 
canine  and  the  applauding  shouts  of  the  audience. 

Meantime  while  Sam  is  engaged  in  executing  a  light- 
ning change  from  the  role  of  "der  Kronprinz"  to  that 
of  the  original  obese  Teuton,  Switzer  beside  himself  with 
rage  comes  upon  him  at  the  precise  moment  when  he  is 
engaged  in  tying  up  his  shoe  preparatory  to  making  his 
final  entry  upon  the  stage.  The  posture  is  irresistibly  in- 
viting. The  next  instant  the  astonished  audience  beholds 
the  extraordinary  spectacle  of  the  obese  Teuton  under 
the  impulse  of  the  irate  Switzer's  boot  in  rapid  flight 
across  the  stage  upon  all  fours,  bearing  down  with  terrific 
speed  upon  the  rear  of  the  unsuspecting  chairman  who, 
facing  the  audience  and  with  a  genial  smile  upon  his 
countenance,  is  engaged  in  applauding  Sam's  previous 
performance.  Making  frantic  but  futile  efforts  to  recover 
himself,  Sam  plunges  head  on  with  resistless  impact  full 
upon  the  exact  spot  where  the  legs  of  the  parson  effect 
a  junction  with  the  rest  of  his  person  and  carries  that 
gentleman  with  him  clear  off  the  stage  and  fairly  upon 
the  top  of  old  McTavish,  who  at  that  moment  is  engaged 
in  conversation  with  little  Miss  Haight  immediately  be- 
hind him.  Immediately  there  is  a  terrific  uproar,  in 
which  through  the  delighted  yells  of  the  crowd,  the 
crashing  of  the  overturned  chairs,  and  the  general  con- 
fusion could  be  heard  the  shrieks  of  the  little  spinster 
and  weird  Scotch  oaths  from  McTavish.  After  the 
noise  had  somewhat  subsided  and  when  the  confusion 
had  been  reduced  to  a  semblance  of  order,  McTavish  was 
discovered  with  his  hand  upon  the  collar  of  the  dazed  par- 
son who  in  turn  held  the  obese  Teuton  in  a  firm  and 


THE  SHADOW  OF  WAR         165 

wrathful  grip,  at  which  once  more  the  whole  crowd 
rocked  with  an  unholy  but  uncontrollable  joy. 

It  was  Larry  who  saved  the  situation  by  appearing 
upon  the  stage  and  gravely  announcing  that  this  unfortu- 
nate catastrophe  was  due  to  a  sudden  international  up- 
heaval which  as  usual  in  such  cases  had  come  about  in 
an  absolutely  unexpected  manner  and  as  a  result  of  mis- 
understandings and  mistakes  for  which  no  one  could  be 
held  responsible.  He  proposed  in  the  name  of  the  audi- 
ence votes  of  thanks  to  those  who  had  laboured  so  dili- 
gently to  make  the  Dominion  Day  celebration  so  great  a 
success,  especially  to  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  had 
served  upon  the  various  committees,  to  the  speakers  of 
the  evening,  to  those  who  had  provided  the  entertain- 
ment, and  last  but  not  least  to  the  chairman  who  had  pre- 
sided with  such  grace  and  dignity  over  the  proceedings 
of  the  evening.  The  motion  was  carried  with  tumultu- 
ous applause,  and  after  the  singing  of  "The  Maple  Leaf" 
and  the  national  anthem,  the  meeting  came  to  a  close. 

After  the  entertainment  was  over  Larry  and  his  mother 
slowly  took  the  trail  homewards,  declining  many  offers 
of  a  lift  from  their  friends  in  cars  and  carriages.  It 
was  the  Harvest  Moon.  Upon  the  folds  of  the  rolling 
prairie,  upon  the  round  tops  of  the  hills,  upon  the  broad 
valleys,  and  upon  the  far-away  peaks  in  the  west  the 
v.hite  light  lay  thick  and  soft  like  a  mantle.  Above  the 
white-mantled  world  the  concave  of  the  sky  hung  blue 
and  deep  and  pricked  out  with  pale  star  points.  About 
the  world  the  night  had  thrown  her  mystic  jewelled  robes 
of  white  and  blue,  making  a  holy  shrine,  a  very  temple 
of  peace  for  God  and  man.  For  some  minutes  they 
walked  together  in  silence,  after  they  had  bidden  good- 
night to  the  last  of  their  friends. 

"What  a  world  it  is,  Mother !"  said  Larry,  gazing  about 
htm  at  the  beauty  of  the  night. 

"Yes,  but  alas,  alas,  that  God's  own  children  should 
spoil  all  this  glory  with  hatred  and  strife!  This  very 
night  in  the  unhappy  Balkan  States  men  are  killing  each 


166  THE  MAJOR 

other.  It  is  too  sad  and  too  terrible  to  think  of.  Oh, 
if  men  would  be  content  only  to  do  justly  by  each  othei." 

"Those  people  of  the  Balkan  States  are  semi-bar- 
barians," said  Larry,  "and  therefore  war  between  them 
is  to  be  expected;  but  I  cannot  get  myself  to  believe  in 
the  possibility  of  war  between  Christians,  civilised  na- 
tions to-day.  But,  Mother,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life, 
listening  to  those  two  men,  Romayne  and  Switzer,  I  had 
a  feeling  that  war  might  be  possible.  Switzer  seemed 
so  eager  for  it,  and  so  sure  about  it,  didn't  he?  And 
Romayne,  too,  seemed  ready  to  fight.  But  then  I  always 
remember  that  military  men  and  military  nations  are 
for  ever  talking  war." 

"That  is  quite  true,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother.  "I 
too  find  it  difficult  to  believe  that  war  is  possible  in  spite 
of  what  we  have  heard  to-night.  Our  Friends  at  Home 
do  not  believe  that  war  is  imminent.  They  tell  me  that 
the  feeling  between  Germany  and  Britain  is  steadily  im- 
proving." 

"And  yet  two  years  ago,  Mother,  in  connection  with 
the  Agadir  incident  war  might  have  happened  any  min- 
ute." 

"That  is  true,"  replied  his  mother,  "but  every  year  of 
peace  makes  war  less  likely.  The  Friends  are  working 
and  praying  for  a  better  understanding  between  these 
nations,  and  they  are  very  confident  that  these  peace  dele- 
gations that  are  exchanging  visits  are  doing  a  great  deal 
for  peace.  Your  Uncle  Matthew,  who  has  had  a  great 
deal  to  do  with  them,  is  very  hopeful  that  a  few  years 
of  peace  will  carry  us  past  the  danger  point." 

"Well.  I  hope  so,  Mother.  I  loathe  the  very  thought 
of  war,"  said  Larry.  "I  think  I  am  like  you  in  this.  I 
never  did  fight,  you  know ;  as  a  boy  I  always  got  out  of 
it.  Do  you  know,  Mother,  I  think  I  would  be  afraid  to 
fight." 

"T  hope  so,"  replied  his  mother.  "Fighting  is  no  work 
for  man,  but  for  brute." 


THE  SHADOW  OF  WAR         167 

"But  you  would  not  be  afraid,  Mother.  I  know  you 
would  stand  up  to  anything." 

"Oh,  no,  no,"  cried  his  mother.  "I  could  stand  up 
to  very  little.  After  all,  it  is  only  God  that  makes  strong 
to  endure." 

"But  it  is  not  quite  the  question  of  enduring,  it  is  not 
the  suffering,  Mother.  It  is  the  killing.  I  don't  be- 
lieve I  could  kill  a  man,  and  yet  in  the  Bible  they  were 
told  to  kill." 

"But  surely,  Larry,  we  read  our  Bible  somewhat  dif- 
ferently these  days.  Surely  we  have  advanced  since 
the  days  of  Abraham.  We  do  not  find  our  Lord  and 
Master  commanding  men  to  kill." 

"But,  Mother,  in  these  present  wars  should  not  men 
defend  their  women  and  children  from  such  outrages  as 
we  read  about?" 

'•'When  it  comes  to  the  question  of  defending  women 
and  children  it  seems  to  me  that  the  question  is  changed," 
said  his  mother.  "As  to  that  I  can  never  quite  make  up 
my  mind,  but  generally  speaking  we  hold  that  it  is  the 
Cross,  not  the  sword,  that  will  save  the  world  from  op- 
pression and  break  the  tyrant's  power." 

"But  after  all,  Mother,"  replied  Larry,  "it  was  not 
Smithfield  that  saved  England's  freedom,  but  Naseby." 

"Perhaps  both  Naseby  and  Smitnfield,"  said  his  moth- 
er. "I  am  not  very  wise  in  these  things." 

At  the  door  of  their  house  they  came  upon  Nora  sit- 
ting in  the  moonlight.  "Did  you  meet  Ernest  and  Mr. 
Romayne?"  she  inquired.  "They've  only  gone  five  min- 
utes or  so.  They  walked  down  with  us." 

"No,  we  did  not  meet  them." 

"You  must  be  tired  after  the  wild  excitement  of  the 
day,  Mother,"  said  Nora.  "I  think  you  had  better  go 
at  once  to  bed.  As  for  me,  I  am  going  for  a  swim." 

"That's  bully ;  I'm  with  you,"  said  Larry. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  dressed  in  their  bathing 
suits,  and,  wrapped  up  in  their  mackintosh  coats,  they 
strolled  toward  the  little  lake. 


168  THE  MAJOR 

"Let's  sit  a  few  moments  and  take  in  this  wonderful 
night,"  said  Nora.  "Larry,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
what  we  heard  to-night  from  those  two  men.  They  made 
me  feel  that  war  was  not  only  possible  but  near." 

"It  did  not  impress  me  in  the  very  least,"  said  Larry. 
"They  talked  as  military  men  always  talk.  They've  got 
the  war  bug.  These  men  have  both  held  commissions  in 
their  respective  armies.  Romayne,  of  course,  has  seen 
war,  and  they  look  at  everything  from  the  military  point 
of  view." 

As  he  was  speaking  there  came  across  the  end  of  the 
lake  the  sound  of  voices.  Over  the  water  the  still  air  car- 
ried the  words  distinctly  to  their  ears. 

"Explain  what?"  It  was  Switzers  voice  they  heard, 
loud  and  truculent. 

"Just  what  you  meant  by  the  words  'slanderous  false- 
hood' which  you  used  to-night,"  replied  a  voice  which 
they  recognised  to  be  Jack  Romayne's. 

"I  meant  just  what  I  said." 

"Did  you  mean  to  impugn  my  veracity,  because " 

"Because  what?" 

"Because  if  you  did  I  should  have  to  slap  your  face 
just  now." 

"MeinGott!    You !" 

"Not  so  loud,"  saicf  Romayne  quietly,  "unless  you  pre- 
fer an  audience." 

"You  schlap  my  face!"  cried  the  German,  in  his  rage 
losing  perfect  control  of  his  accent.  "Ach,  if  you  were 
only  in  my  country,  we  could  settle  this  in  the  only  way." 

"Perhaps  you  will  answer  my  question."  Romayne's 
voice  was  low  and  clear  and  very  hard.  "Did  you  mean 
to  call  me  a  liar?  Yes  or  no." 

"A  liar,"  replied  the  German,  speaking  more  quietly. 
"No,  it  is  not  a.  question  of  veracity.  It  is  a  question 
of  historical  accuracy." 

"Oh,  very  well.    That's  all." 

"No,  it  is  not  all,"  exclaimed  the  German.  "My  God, 
that  I  should  have  to  take  insult  from  you!  In  this 


THE  SHADOW  OF  WAR         169 

country  of  barbarians  there  is  no  way  of  satisfaction  ex- 
cept by  the  beastly,  the  savage  method  of  fists,  but  some 
day  we  will  show  you  schwein  of  England " 

"Stop!"  Romayne's  voice  came  across  the  water  with 
a  sharp  ring  like  the  tap  of  a  hammer  on  steel.  "You 
cannot  use  your  hands,  I  suppose  ?  That  saves  you,  but 
if  you  say  any  such  words  again  in  regard  to  England  or 
Englishmen,  I  shall  have  to  punish  you." 

"Punish  me!"  shouted  the  German.  "Gott  in  Him- 
mel,  that  I  must  bear  this !" 

"They  are  going  to  fight,"  said  Nora  in  an  awed  and 
horrified  voice.  "Oh,  Larry,  do  go  over." 

"He-l-l-o,"  cried  Larry  across  the  water.  "That  you, 
Switzer?  Who  is  that  with  you?  Come  along  around 
here,  won't  you  ?" 

There  was  a  silence  of  some  moments  and  then  Ro- 
mayne's voice  came  quietly  across  the  water.  "That  you, 
Gwynne?  Rather  late  to  come  around,  I  think.  I  am 
off  for  home.  Well,  Switzer,  that's  all,  I  think,  just  now. 
I'll  say  good-night."  There  was  no  reply  from  Switzer. 

"You  won't  come  then?"  called  Larry.  "Well,  good- 
night, both  of  you." 

"Good-night,  good-night,"  came  from  both  men. 

"Do  you  think  they  will  fight?"  said  Nora. 

"No,  I  think  not.  There's  Switzer  riding  off  now. 
What  fools  they  are." 

"And  Jack  Romayne  is  so  quiet  and  gentlemanly," 
said  Nora. 

"Quiet,  yes,  and  gentlemanly,  yes  too.  But  I  guess 
he'd  be  what  Sam  calls  a  'bad  actor'  in  a  fight.  Oh,  these 
men  make  me  tired  who  can't  have  a  difference  of  opin- 
ion but  they  must  think  of  fighting." 

"Oh,  Larry,  I  don't  understand  you  a  bit,"  cried  Nora. 
"Of  course  they  want  to  fight  when  they  get  full  of  rage. 
I  would  myself." 

"I  believe  you,"  said  Larry.  "You  are  a  real  Irish  ter- 
rier. You  are  like  father.  I  am  a  Quaker,  or  perhaps 
there's  another  word  for  it.  I  only  hope  I  shall  never  be 


170  THE  MAJOR 

called  on  to  prove  just  what  I  am.  Come  on,  let's  go 
in." 

For  a  half  hour  they  swam  leisurely  to  and  fro  in 
the  moonlit  water.  But  before  they  parted  for  the  night 
Nora  returned  to  the  subject  which  they  had  been  dis- 
cussing. 

"Larry,  I  don't  believe  you  are  a  coward.  I  could 
not  believe  that  of  you,"  she  said  passionately;  "I  think 
I  would  rather  die." 

"Well,  don't  believe  it  then.  I  hope  to  God  I  am  not, 
but  then  one  can  never  tell.  I  cannot  see  myself  hit- 
ting a  man  on  the  bare  face,  and  as  for  killing  a  fellow 
being,  I  would  much  rather  die  myself.  Is.  that  being 
a  coward?" 

"But  if  that  man,"  breathed  Nora  hurriedly,  for  the 
household  were  asleep,  "if  that  man  mad  with  lust  and 
rage  were  about  to  injure  your  mother  or  your  sis- 
ters  " 

"Ah,"  said  Larry,  drawing  in  his  breath  quickly,  "that 
would  be  different,  eh  ?" 

"Good-night,  you  dear  goose,"  said  his  sister,  kissing 
him  quickly.  "I  am  not  afraid  for  you." 


CHAPTER  XH 

MEN  AND  A  MINE 

IT  was  early  in  July  that  Mr.  Gwynne  met  his  family 
with  a  proposition  which  had  been  elaborated  by 
Ernest  Switzer  to  form  a  company  for  the  working  of 
Nora's  mine.  With  characteristic  energy  and  thorough- 
ness Switzer  had  studied  the  proposition  from  every 
point  of  view,  and  the  results  of  his  study  he  had  set 
down  in  a  document  which  Mr.  Gwynne  laid  before  his 
wife  and  children  for  consideration.  It  appeared  that 
the  mine  itself  had  been  investigated  by  expert  friends 
of  Switzer's  from  the  Lethbridge  and  Crows'  Nest  mines. 
The  reports  of  these  experts  were  favoiirable  to  a  degree 
unusual  with  practical  mining  men,  both  as  to  the  quality 
and  quantity  of  coal  and  as  to  the  cost  of  operation. 
The  quality  was  assured  by  the  fact  that  the  ranchers  in 
the  neighbourhood  for  years  had  been  using  the  coal  in 
their  own  homes.  In  addition  to  this  Switzer  had  secured 
a  report  from  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway  engineers 
showing  that  the  coal  possessed  high  steaming  qualities. 
And  as  to  quantity,  the  seam  could  be  measured  where 
the  creek  cut  through,  showing  enough  coal  in  sight  to 
promise  a  sufficient  supply  to  warrant  operation  for  years 
to  come.  In  brief,  the  report  submitted  by  the  young 
German  was  that  there  was  every  ground  for  believing 
that  a  paying  mine,  possibly  a  great  mine,  could  be  devel- 
oped from  the  property  on  Mr.  Gwynne's  land.  In  re- 
gard to  the  market,  there  was  of  course  no  doubt.  Every 
ton  of  coal  produced  could  be  sold  at  the  mine  mouth 
without  difficulty.  There  remained  only  the  question  of 


172  THE  MAJOR 

finance  to  face.  This  also  Switzer  had  considered,  and 
the  result  of  his  consideration  was  before  them  in  a  de- 
tailed scheme.  By  this  scheme  a  local  company  wa?  to 
be  organised  with  a  capitalisation  of  $500,000,  which 
would  be  sufficient  to  begin  with.  Of  this  amount  $200.- 
ooo  should  be  assigned  to  the  treasury,  the  remaining 
$300,000  disposed  of  as  follows:  to  Mr.  Gwynne,  as 
owner  of  the  mine,  should  be  allotted  $151,000  stock, 
thus  giving  him  control;  the  remaining  $149,000  stock 
should  be  placed  locally.  The  proposition  contained  an 
offer  from  Switzer  to  organise  the  company  and  to  place 
the  stock,  in  consideration  for  which  service  he  asked  a 
block  of  stock  such  as  the  directors  should  agree  upon, 
and  further  that  he  should  be  secretary  of  the  company 
for  a  term  of  five  years  at  a  salary  of  $2,000  per  annum, 
which  should  be  a  first  charge  upon  the  returns  from 
the  mine. 

"Ernest  insists  on  being  secretary?"  said  Nora. 

"Yes,  naturally.  His  interests  are  all  here.  He  insists 
also  that  I  be  president." 

"And  why,  Dad?"  enquired  Nora. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Gwynne,  with  a  slight  laugh,  "he 
frankly  says  he  would  like  to  be  associated  with  me  in 
this  business.  Of  course,  he  said  some  nice  things  about 
me  which  I  need  not  repeat." 

"Oh  pshaw!"  exclaimed  Nora,  patting  him  on  the 
shoulder,  "I  thought  you  were  a  lot  smarter  man  than 
that.  Can't  you  see  why  he  wants  to  be  associated  with 
you  ?  Surely  you  don't  need  me  to  tell  you." 

"Nora  dear,  hush,"  said  her  mother. 

With  an  imploring  look  at  her  sister,  Kathleen  left 
the  room. 

"Indeed,  Mother,  I  think  it  is  no  time  to  hush.  I  will 
tell  you,  Dad,  why  he  wants  to  be  associated  with  you 
in  this  coal  mine  business.  Ernest  Switzer  wants  our 
Kathleen.  Mother  knows  it.  We  all  know  it." 

Her  father  gazed  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"Surely  this  is  quite  unwarranted,  Nora,"  he  said.    "I 


MEN  AND  A  MINE  173 

cannot  allow  a  matter  of  this  kind  to  be  dragged  into  a 
matter  of  business." 

"How  would  it  do  to  take  a  few  days  to  turn  it  over  in 
our  minds  ?"  said  his  wife.  "We  must  not  forget,  dear,'' 
she  continued,  a  note  of  grave  anxiety  in  her  voice,  "that 
if  we  accept  this  proposition  it  will  mean  a  complete 
change  in  our  family  life." 

"Family  life,  Mother,"  said  Mr.  Gwynne  with  some 
impatience.  "You  don't  mean " 

"I  mean,  my  dear,"  replied  the  mother,  "that  we  shall 
no  longer  be  ranchers,  but  shall  become  coal  miners.  Let 
us  think  it  over  and  perhaps  you  might  consult  with  some 
of  our  neighbours,  say  with  Mr.  Waring-Gaunt." 

"Surely,  surely,"  replied  her  husband.  "Your  advice 
is  wise,  as  always.  I  shall  just  step  over  to  Mr.  Waring- 
Gaunt's  immediately." 

After  Mr.  Gwynne's  departure,  the  others  sat  silent 
for  some  moments,  their  minds  occupied  with  the  ques- 
tion raised  so  abruptly  by  Nora. 

"You  may  as  well  face  it,  Mother/'  said  the  girl.  "In- 
deed, you  must  face  it,  and  right  new.  If  this  Company 
goes  on  with  Ernest  as  secretary,  it  means  that  he  will 
necessarily  be  thrown  into  closer  relationship  with  our 
family.  This  will  help  his  business  with  Kathleen.  This 
is  what  he  means.  Do  you  wish  to  help  it  on?" 

The  mother  sat  silent,  her  face  showing  deep  distress. 
"Nora  dear,"  at  length  she  said,  "this  matter  is  really  not 
in  our  hands.  Surely  you  can  see  that.  I  can't  discuss 
it  with  you."  And  so  saying  she  left  the  room. 

"Now,  Nora,"  said  Larry  severely,  "you  are  not  to 
worry  Mother.  And  besides  you  can't  play  Providence  in 
this  way.  You  must  confess  that  you  have  a  dreadful 
habit  of  trying  to  run  things.  I  believe  you  would  have 
a  go  at  running  the  universe." 

"Run  things?"  cried  Nora.  "Why  not?  There  is  al- 
together too  much  of  letting  things  slide  in  this  family. 
It  is  all  very  well  to  trust  to  Providence.  Providence 
made  the  trees  grow  in  the  woods,  but  this  house  never 


174  THE  MAJOR 

would  have  been  here  if  Mr.  Sleighter  had  not  got  on  to 
the  job.  Now  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  straight  question. 
Do  you  want  Ernest  Switzer  to  have  Kathleen?" 

•''Well,  he's  a  ^cent  sort  and  a  clever  fellow,"  began 
Larry. 

"Now,  Larry,  you  may  as  well  cut  that  'decent  sort,' 
'clever  fellow'  stuff  right  out.  I  want  to  know  your 
mind.  Would  you  like  to  see  Ernest  Switzer  have  Kath- 
leen, or  not  ?" 

"Would  you?"  retorted  her  brother. 

"No.    I  would  not,"  emphatically  said  Nora. 

"Why  not?" 

"To  tell  the  truth,  ever  since  that  concert  night  I  feel 
I  can't  trust  him.  He  is  different  from  us.  He  is  no 
real  Canadian.  He  is  a  German." 

"Well,  Nora,  you  amaze  me,"  said  Larry.  "What  su- 
preme nonsense  you  are  talking!  You  have  got  that 
stuff  of  Romayne's  into  your  mind.  The  war  bug  has 
bitten  you  too.  For  Heaven's  sake  be  reasonable.  If  you 
object  to  Ernest  because  of  his  race,  I  am  ashamed  of 
you  and  have  no  sympathy  with  you." 

"Not  because  of  his  race,"  said  Nora,  "though,  Larry, 
let  me  tell  you  he  hates  Britain.  I  was  close  to  him  that 
night,  and  hate  looked  out  of  his  eyes.  But  let  that  pass. 
I  have  seen  Ernest  with  'his  women'  as  he  calls  them,  and, 
Larry,  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  our  Kathleen  being  treated 
as  he  treats  his  mother  and  sister." 

"Now,  Nora,  let  us  be  reasonable.  Let  us  look  at  this 
fairly,"  began  Larry. 

"Oh,  Larry !  stop  or  I  shall  be  biting  the  furniture  next. 
When  you  assume  that  judicial  air  of  yours  I  want  to 
swear.  Answer  me.  Do  you  want  him  to  marry  Kath- 
leen? Yes  or  no." 

"Well,  as  I  was  about  to  say " 

"Larry,  will  you  answer  yes  or  no?'* 

"Well,  no,  then,"  said  Larry. 

"Thank  God!"  cried  Nora,  rushing  at  him  and  shak- 
ing him  vigorously.  "You  wretch !  Why  did  you  keep 


MEN  AND  A  MINE  175 

me  in  suspense?  How  I  wish  that  English  stick  would 
get  a  move  on!" 

"English  stick?    Whom  do  you  mean?" 

"You're  as  stupid  as  the  rest,  Larry.  Whom  should  I 
mean?  Jack  Romayne,  of  course.  There's  a  man  for 
you.  I  just  wish  he'd  waggle  his  finger  at  me !  But  he 
won't  do  things.  He  just  'glowers'  at  her,  as  old  Mc- 
Tavish  would  say,  with  those  deep  eyes  of  his,  and  sets 
his  jaw  like  a  wolf  trap,  and  waits.  Oh,  men  are  so 
stupid  with  women  \" 

"Indeed?"  said  Larry.    "And  how  exactly?" 

"Why  doesn't  he  just  make  her  love  him,  master  her, 
swing  her  off  her  feet  ?"  said  Nora. 

"Like  Switzer,  eh?    The  cave  man  idea?" 

"No,  no.     Surely  you  see  the  difference?" 

"Pity  my  ignorance  and  elucidate  the  mystery." 

"Mystery?  Nonsense.  It  is  quite  simple.  It  is  a 
mere  matter  of  emphasis." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Larry,  "or  at  least  I  don't  see.  But 
credit  me  with  the  earnest  and  humble  desire  to  under- 
stand." 

"Well,"  said  his  sister,  "the  one " 

"Which  one?" 

"Switzer.  He  is  mad  to  possess  her  for  his  very  own. 
He  would  carry  her  off  against  her  will.  He'd  bully  her 
to  death." 

"Ah,  you  would  like  that?" 

"Not  I.  Let  him  try  it  on.  The  other,  Romayne,  is 
mad  to  have  her  too.  He  would  give  her  his  very  soul. 
But  he  sticks  there  waiting  till  she  comes  and  flings  her- 
self into  his  arms." 

"You  prefer  that,  eh?" 

"Oh,  that  makes  me  tired!"  said  Nora  in  a  tone  of 
disgust. 

"Well,  I  give  it  up,"  said  Larry  hopelessly.  "What 
do  you  want  ?" 

"I  want  both.  My  man  must  want  me  more  than  he 
wants  Heaven  itself,  and  he  must  give  me  all  he  has  but 


176  THE  MAJOR 

honour.  Such  a  man  would  be  my  slave!  And  such  a 
man — oh,  I'd  just  love  to  be  bullied  by  him." 

For  some  moments  Larry  stood  looking  into  the  glow- 
ing black  eyes,  then  said  quietly,  "May  God  send  you  such 
a  man,  little  sister,  or  none  at  all." 

In  a  few  weeks  the  Alberta  Coal  Mining  and  Develop- 
ment Company  was  an  established  fact.  Mr.  Waring- 
Gaunt  approved  of  it  and  showed  his  confidence  in  the 
scheme  by  offering  to  take  a  large  block  of  stock  and 
persuade  his  friends  to  invest  as  well.  He  also  agreed 
that  it  was  important  to  the  success  of  the  scheme  both 
that  Mr.  Gwynne  should  be  the  president  of  the  company 
and  that  young  Switzer  should  be  its  secretary.  Mr. 
Gwynne's  earnest  request  that  he  should  become  the  treas- 
urer of  the  company  Mr.  Waring-Gaunt  felt  constrained 
in  the  meantime  to  decline.  He  already  had  too  many 
irons  in  the  fire.  But  he  was  willing  to  become  a  direc- 
tor and  to  aid  the  scheme  in  any  way  possible.  Before 
the  end  of  the  month  such  was  the  energy  displayed  by 
the  new  secretary  of  the  company  in  the  disposing  of 
the  stock  it  was  announced  that  only  a  small  block  of 
about  $25,000  remained  unsold.  A  part  of  this  Mr. 
Waring-Gaunt  urged  his  brother-in-law  to  secure. 

"Got  twenty  thousand  myself,  you  know — looks  to  me 
like  a  sound  proposition — think  you  ought  io  go  in — • 
what  do  you  say,  eh,  what?" 

"Very  well ;  get  ten  or  fifteen  thousand  for  me,"  said 
his  brother-in-law. 

Within  two  days  Mr.  Waring-Gaunt  found  that  the 
stock  had  all  been  disposed  of.  "Energetic  chap,  that 
young  Switzer, — got  all  the  stock  placed — none  left,  so 
he  told  me." 

"Did  you  tell  him  the  stock'  was  for  me?"  enquired 
Romayne. 

"Of  course,  why  not?" 

"Probably  that  accounts  for  it.  He  would  not  be 
especially  anxious  to  have  me  in." 


MEN  AND  A  MINE  177 

"What  do  you  say?  Nothing  in  that,  I  fancy.  But 
I  must  see  about  that,  what?" 

"Oh,  let  it  go,"  said  Romayne. 

"Gwynne  was  after  me  again  to  take  the  treasurer- 
ship,"  said  Waring-Gaunt,  "but  I  am  busy  with  so  many 
things — treasurership  very  hampering — -demands  close 
attention — that  sort  of  thing,  eh,  what?" 

"Personally  I  wish  you  would  take  it,"  said  Romayne. 
"You  would  be  able  to  protect  your  own  money  and  the 
investments  of  your  friends.  Besides,  I  understand  the 
manager  is  to  be  a  German,  which,  with  a  German  sec- 
retary, is  too  much  German  for  my  idea." 

"Oh,  you  don't  like  Switzer,  eh?  Natural,  I  suppose. 
Don't  like  him  myself ;  bounder  sort  of  chap — but  avoid 
prejudice,  my  boy,  eh,  what?  German — that  sort  of 
thing — don't  do  in  this  country,  eh?  English,  Scotch, 
Irish,  French,  Galician,  Swede,  German — all  sound  Ca- 
nadians— melting  pot  idea,  eh,  what?" 

"I  am  getting  that  idea,  too,"  said  his  brother-in-law. 
"Sybil  has  been  rubbing  it  into  me.  I  believe  it  is 
right  enough.  But  apart  altogether  from  that,  frankly  I 
do  not  like  that  chap;  I  don't  trust  him.  I  fancy  I 
know  a  gentleman  when  I  see  him." 

"All  right,  all  right,  my  boy,  gentleman  idea  quite  right 
too — but  new  country,  new  standards — 'Old  Family'  idea 
played  out,  don't  you  know.  Burke's  Peerage  not  known 
here — every  mug  on  its  own  bottom — rather  touchy  Ca- 
nadians are  about  that  sort  of  thing — democracy  stuff  and 
all  that  you  know.  Not  too  bad  either,  eh,  what?  for  a 
chap  who  has  got  the  stuff  in  him — architect  of  his  for- 
tune— founder  of  his  own  family  and  that  sort  of  thing, 
don't  you  know.  Not  too  bad,  eh,  what?" 

"I  quite  agree,"  cried  Jack,  "at  least  with  most  of  it. 
But  all  the  same  I  hope  you  will  take  the  treasurership. 
Not  only  will  you  protect  your  own  and  your  friends' 
investments,  but  you  will  protect  the  interests  of  the 
Gwynnes.  The  father  apparently  is  no  business  man,  the 


178  THE  MAJOR 

son  is  to  be  away ;  anything  might  happen.  I  would  hate 
to  see  them  lose  out.  You  understand?" 

His  brother-in-law  turned  his  eyes  upon  him,  gazed 
at  him  steadily  for  a  few  moments,  then  taking  his  hand, 
shook  it  warmly,  exclaiming,  "Perfectly,  old  chap,  per- 
fectly— good  sort,  Gwynne — good  family.  Girl  of  the 
finest — hope  you  put  it  off,  old  boy.  Madame  has  put  me 
on,  you  know,  eh,  what?  Jolly  good  thing." 

"Now  what  the  deuce  do  you  mean?"  said  Romayne 
angrily. 

"All  right — don't  wish  to  intrude,  don't  you  know. 
Fine  girl  though — quite  the  finest  thing  I've  seen — could 
go  anywhere." 

His  brother-in-law's  face  flushed  fiery  red.  "Now 
look  here,  Tom,"  he  said  angrily,  "don't  be  an  ass.  Of 
course  I  know  what  you  mean  but  as  the  boys  say  here, 
'Nothing  doing !' ' 

"What?  You  mean  it?  Nothing  doing?  A  fine  girl 
like  that — sweet  girl — good  clean  stock — wonderful 
mother — would  make  a  wife  any  man  would  be  proud 
of — the  real  thing,  you  know,  the  real  thing — I  have 
known  her  these  eight  years — watched  her  grow  up — 
rare  courage — pure  soul.  Nothing  doing?  My  God, 
man,  have  you  eyes?"  It  was  not  often  that  Tom 
Waring-Gaunt  allowed  himself  the  luxury  of  passion, 
but  this  seemed  to  him  to  be  an  occasion  in  which  he 
might  indulge  himself.  Romayrie  stood  listening  to  him 
with  his  face  turned  away,  looking  out  of  the  window. 
"Don't  you  hear  me,  Jack?"  said  Waring-Gaunt.  "Do 
you  mean  there's  nothing  in  it,  or  have  you  burned  out 
your  heart  with  those  fool  women  of  London  and  Paris  ?" 

Swiftly  his  brother-in-law  turned  to  him.  "No,  Tom, 
but  I  almost  wish  to  God  I  had.  No,  I  won't  say  that; 
rather  do  I  thank  God  that  I  know  now  what  it  is  to 
love  a  woman.  I  am  not  going  to  lie  to  you  any  longer, 
old  chap.  To  love  a  sweet,  pure  woman,  sweet  and  pure 
as  the  flowers  out  there,  to  love  her  with  every  bit  of  my 
heart,  with  every  fibre  of  my  soul,  that  is  the  finest  thing 


MEN  AND  A  MINE  179 

that  can  come  to  a  man.  I  have  treated  women  lightly  in 
my  time,  Tom.  I  have  made  them  love  me,  taken  what 
they  have  had  to  give,  and  left  them  without  a  thought. 
But  it'  any  of  them  have  suffered  through  me,  and  if  they 
could  know  what  I  am  getting  now,  they  would  pity  me 
and  say  I  had  got  enough  to  pay  me  out.  To  think  that 
I  should  ever  hear  myself  saying  that  to  another  man, 
I  who  have  made  love  to  women  and  laughed  at  them  and 
laughed  at  the  poor  weak  devils  who  fell  in  love  with 
women.  Do  you  get  me?  I  am  telling  you  this  and  yet 
I  feel  no  shame,  no  humiliation!  Humiliation,  great 
heaven!  I  am  proud  to  say  that  I  love  this  girl.  From 
the  minute  I  saw  her  up  there  in  the  woods  I  have  loved 
her.  I  have  cursed  myself  for  loving  her.  I  have  called 
myself  fool,  idiot,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  I  love  her.  It  is 
hell  to  me  or  heaven,  which. you  like.  It's  both."  He  was 
actually  trembling,  his  voice  hoarse  and  shaking. 

Amazement,  then  pity,  finally  delight,  succeeded  each 
other  in  rapid  succession  across  the  face  of  his  brother- 
in-law  as  he  listened.  "My  dear  chap,  my  dear  chap," 
he  said  when  Romayne  had  finished.  "Awfully  glad,  you 
know — delighted.  But  why  the  howl?  The  girl  is  there 
— go  in  and  get  her,  by  Jove.  Why  not,  eh,  what?" 

"It's  no  use,  I  tell  you,"  said  Romayne.  "That  damned 
German  has  got  her.  I  have  seen  them  together  too 
often.  I  have  seen  in  her  eyes  the  look  that  women  get 
when  they  are  ready  to  give  themselves  body  and  soul 
to  a  man.  She  loves  that  man.  She  loves  him,  I  tell 
you.  She  has  known  him  for  years.  I  have  come  too 
late  to  have  a  chance.  Too  late,  my  God,  too  late !"  He 
pulled  himself  up  with  an  effort,  then  with  a  laugh  said, 
"Do  you  recognise  me,  Tom?  I  confess  I  do  not  recog- 
nise myself.  Well,  that's  out.  Let  it  go.  That's  the 
last  you  will  get  from  me.  But,  Tom,  this  is  more  than 
I  can  stand.  I  must  quit  this  country,  and  I  want  you 
to  make  it  easy  for  me  to  go.  We'll  get  up  some  yarn 
for  Sibyl.  You'll  help  me  out,  old  man?  God  knows  I 
need  help  in  this." 


180  THE  MAJOR 

"Rot,  beastly  rot.  Give  her  up  to  that  German  heel- 
clicking  bounder — rather  not.  Buck  up,  old  man — give 
the  girl  a  chance  anyway — play  the  game  out,  eh,  what? 
Oh,  by  the  way,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  take  that 
treasurership — beastly  nuisance,  eh?  Coin'?  Where?" 

"Off  with  the  dogs  for  a  run  somewhere." 

"No,  take  the  car — too  beastly  hot  for  riding,  don't 
you  know.  Take  my  car.  Or,  I  say,  let's  go  up  to  the 
mine.  Must  get  to  know  more  about  the  beastly  old 
thing,  eh,  what?  We'll  take  the  guns  and  Sweeper — 
we'll  be  sure  to  see  some  birds  and  get  the  evening  shoot 
coming  back.  But,  last  word,  my  boy,  give  the  girl  a 
chance  to  say  no.  Think  of  it,  a  German,  good  Lord! 
You  go  and  get  the  car  ready.  We'll  get  Sybil  to  drive 
while  we  shoot." 

Tom  Waring-Gaunt  found  his  great,  warm,  simple 
heart  overflowing  with  delight  at  the  tremendous  news 
that  had  come  to  him.  It  was  more  than  his  nature 
could  bear  that  he  should  keep  this  from  his  wife.  He 
found  her  immersed  in  her  domestic  duties  and  adamant 
against  his  persuasion  to  drive  them  to  the  mine. 

"A  shoot,"  she  cried,  "I'd  love  to.  But,  Tom,  you 
forget  I  am  a  rancher's  wife,  and  you  know,  or  at  least 
you  don't  know,  what  that  means.  Run  along  and  play 
with  Jack.  Some  one  must  work.  No,  don't  tempt  me. 
I  have  my  programme  all  laid  out.  I  especially  prayed 
this  morning  for  grace  to  resist  the  lure  of  the  outside 
this  day.  'Get  thee  behind  me '  What?  I  am  listen- 
ing, but  I  shouldn't  be.  What  do  you  say?  Tom,  it 
cannot  be !"  She  sat  down  weakly  in  a  convenient  chair 
and  listened  to  her  husband  while  he  retailed  her  broth- 
er's great  secret. 

"And  so,  my  dear,  we  are  going  to  begin  a  big  cam- 
paign— begin  to-day — take  the  girls  off  with  us  for  a 
shoot — what  do  you  say,  eh?" 

"Why,  certainly,  Tom.  Give  me  half  an  hour  to  get 
Martha  fairly  on  the  rails,  and  I  am  with  you.  We'll 
take  those  dear  girls  along.  Oh,  it  is  perfectly  splendid. 


MEN  AND  A  MINE  181 

Now  let  me  go;  that  will  do,  you  foolish  boy.  Oh,  yes, 
how  lovely.  Trust  me  to  back  you  up.  What?  Don't 
spoil  things.  Well,  I  like  that.  Didn't  I  land  you  ?  That 
was  'some  job/  as  dear  Nora  would  say.  You  listen  to 
me,  Tom.  You  had  better  keep  in  the  background. 
Finesse  is  not  your  forte.  Better  leave  these  things  to 
me.  Hurry  up  now.  Oh,  I  am  so  excited." 

Few  women  can  resist  an  appeal  for  help  from  a  hus- 
band. The  acknowledgment  of  the  need  of  help  on  the 
part  of  the  dominating  partner  is  in  itself  the  most  subtle 
flattery  and  almost  always  irresistible.  No  woman  can 
resist  the  opportunity  to  join  in  that  most  fascinating  of 
all  sport — man-hunting.  And  when  the  man  runs  clear 
into  the  open  wildly  seeking  not  escape  from  but  an 
opening  into  the  net,  this  only  adds  a  hazard  and  a  con- 
sequent zest  to  the  sport.  Her  husband's  disclosures  had 
aroused  in  Sybil  Waring-Gaunt  not  so  much  her  sport- 
ing instincts,  the  affair  went  deeper  far  than  that  with 
her.  Beyond  anything  else  in  life  she  desired  at  that 
time  to  bring  together  the  two  beings  whom,  next  to  her 
husband,  she  loved  best  in  the  world.  From  the  day 
that  her  brother  had  arrived  in  the  country  she  had 
desired  this,  and  more  or  less  aggressively  had  tried  to 
assist  Providence  in  the  ordering  of  events.  But  in 
Kathleen,  with  all  her  affection  and  all  her  sweet  sim- 
plicity, there  was  a  certain  shy  reserve  that  prevented 
confidences  in  the  matter  of  her  heart  affairs. 

"How  far  has  the  German  got  with  her?  That  is 
what  I  would  like  to  know,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  to 
herself  as  she  hastily  prepared  for  the  motor  ride. 
"There's  no  doubt  about  him.  Every  one  can  see  how  he 
stands,  and  he  has  such  a  masterful  way  with  him  that 
it  makes  one  think  that  everything  is  settled.  If  it  is 
there  is  no  chance  for  Jack,  for  she  is  not  the  changing 
kind."  Meantime  she  would  hope  for  the  best  and  play 
the  game  as  best  she  could. 

"Would  you  mind  running  into  the  Gwynnes*  as  we 


182  THE  MAJOR 

pass,  Tom?"  said  his  wife  as  they  settled  themselves  in 
the  car.  "I  have  a  message  for  Nora." 

"Righto !"  said  her  husband,  throwing  his  wife  a  look 
which  she  refused  utterly  to  notice.  "But  remember  you 
must  not  be  long.  We  cannot  lose  the  evening  shoot,  eh, 
what?" 

"Oh,  just  a  moment  will  do,"  said  his  wife. 

At  the  door  Nora  greeted  them.  "Oh,  you  lucky  peo- 
ple— guns  and  a  dog,  and  a  day  like  this,"  she  cried. 

"Come  along — lots  of  room — take  my  gun,"  said  Mr. 
Waring-Gaunt. 

"Don't  tempt  me,  or  I  shall  come." 

"Tell  us  what  is  your  weakness,  Miss  Nora,"  said 
Jack.  "How  can  we  get  you  to  come?" 

"My  weakness?"  cried  the  girl  eagerly,  "you  all  are, 
and  especially  your  dear  Sweeper  dog  there."  She  put 
her  arms  around  the  neck  of  the  beautiful  setter,  who 
was  frantically  struggling  to  get  out  to  her. 

"Sweeper,  lucky  dog,  eh,  Jack,  what?"  said  Mr.  War- 
ing-Gaunt, with  a  warm  smile  of  admiration  at  the  whole- 
some, sun-browned  face.  "Come  along,  Miss  Nora — 
back  in  a  short  time,  eh,  what?" 

"Short  time?"  said  Nora.  "Not  if  I  go.  Not  till  we 
can't  see  the  birds." 

"Can't  you  come,  Nora?"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt, 
"I  want  to  talk  to  you,  and  we'll  drive  to-day  and  let  the 
men  shoot.  Where  is  Kathleen?  Is  she  busy?" 

"Busy?  We  are  all  positively  overwhelmed  with  work. 
But,  oh,  do  go  away,  or  I  shall  certainly  run  from  it 
all." 

"I  am  going  in  to  get  your  mother  to  send  you  both 
out.  Have  you  had  a  gun  this  fall  ?  I  don't  believe  you 
have,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt. 

"Not  once.  Yes,  once.  I  had  a  chance  at  a  hawk  that 
was  paying  too  much  attention  to  our  chickens.  No, 
don't  go  in,  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  I  beg  of  you.  Well, 
go,  then ;  I  have  fallen  shamelessly.  If  you  can  get  Kath- 
leen, I  am  on  too/' 


MEN  AND  A  MINE  183 

In  a  few  moments  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  returned  with 
Kathleen  and  her  mother.  "Your  mother  says,  Nora, 
that  she  does  not  need  you  a  bit,  and  she  insists  on  your 
coming,  both  of  you.  So  be  quick." 

"Oh,  Mother,"  cried  the  girl  in  great  excitement.  "You 
cannot  possibly  get  along  without  us.  There's  the  tea 
for  all  those  men." 

"Nonsense,  Nora,  run  along.  I  can  do  quite  well 
without  you.  Larry  is  coming  in  early  and  he  will  help. 
Run  along,  both  of  you." 

"But  there  isn't  room  for  us  all,"  said  Kathleen. 

"Room?  Heaps,"  said  Mr.  Waring-Gaunt.  "Climb 
in  here  beside  me,  Miss  Nora." 

"Oh,  it  will  be  great,"  said  Nora.  "Can  you  really 
get  along,  Mother?" 

"Nonsense,"  said  the  mother.  "You  think  far  too 
much  of  yourself.  Get  your  hat." 

"Hat;  who  wants  a  hat?"  cried  the  girl,  getting  in  be- 
side Mr.  Waring-Gaunt.  "Oh,  this  is  more  than  I  had 
ever  dreamed,  and  \  feel  so  wicked!" 

"All  the  better,  eh,  what?" 

"Here,  Kathleen,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  "here  be- 
tween us." 

"I  am  so  afraid  I  shall  crowd  you,"  said  the  girl,  her 
face  showing  a  slight  flush. 

"Not  a  bit,  my  dear;  the  seat  is  quite  roomy.  There, 
are  you  comfortable?  All  right,  Tom.  Good-bye,  Mrs. 
G wynne.  So  good  of  you  to  let  the  girls  come." 

In  high  spirits  they  set  off,  waving  their  farewell  to 
the  mother  who  stood  watching  till  they  had  swung  out 
of  the  lane  and  on  to  the  main  trail. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A   DAY   IN   SEPTEMBER 

A  SEPTEMBER  day  in  Alberta.  There  is  no  other 
day  to  be  compared  to  it  in  any  other  month  or  in 
any  other  land.  Other  lands  have  their  September  days, 
and  Alberta  has  days  in  other  months,  but  the  combina- 
tion of  September  day  in  Alberta  is  sui  generis.  The 
foothill  country  with  plain,  and  hill,  and  valley,  and 
mighty  mountain,  laced  with  stream,  and  river,  and  lake ; 
the  over-arching  sheet  of  blue  with  cloud  shapes  wander- 
ing and  wistful,  the  kindly  sun  pouring  its  genial  sheen 
of  yellow  and  gold  over  the  face  of  the  earth  below, 
purple  in  the  mountains  and  gold  and  pearly  grey,  and 
all  swimming  in  air  blown  through  the  mountain  gorges 
and  over  forests  of  pine,  tingling  with  ozone  and  reach- 
ing the  heart  and  going  to  the  head  like  new  wine — these 
things  go  with  a  September  day  in  Alberta. 

And  like  new  wine  the  air  seemed  to  Jack  Romayne  as 
the  Packard  like  a  swallow  skimmed  along  the  undula- 
ting prairie  trail,  smooth,  resilient,  of  all  the  roads  in 
the  world  for  motor  cars  the  best.  For  that  day  at  least 
and  in  that  motor  car  life  seemed  good  to  Jack  Romayne. 
Not  many  such  days  would  be  his,  and  he  meant  to  take 
all  it  gave  regardless  of  cost.  His  sister's  proposal  to 
call  at  the  G Wynnes'  house  he  would  have  rejected  could 
he  have  found  a  reasonable  excuse.  The  invitation  to 
the  Gwynne  girls  to  accompany  them  on  their  shoot  he 
resented  also,  and  still  more  deeply  he  resented  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  party  that  set  Kathleen  next  to  him,  a 
close  fit  in  the  back  seat  of  the  car.  But  at  the  first 
feeling  of  her  warm  soft  body  wedged  closely  against 

184 


A  DAY  IN  SEPTEMBER         185 

him,  all  emotions  fled  except  one  of  pujsating  joy.  And 
this,  with  the  air  rushing  at  them  from  the  western 
mountains,  wrought  in  him  the  reckless  resolve  to  take 
what  the  gods  offered  no  matter  what  might  follow.  As 
he  listened  to  the  chatter  about  him  he  yielded  to  the  in- 
toxication of  his  love  for  this  fair  slim  girl  pressing  soft 
against  his  arm  and  shoulder.  He  allowed  his  fancy  to 
play  with  surmises  as  to  what  would  happen  should  he 
turn  to  her  and  say,  "Dear  girl,  do  you  know  how  fair 
you  are,  how  entrancingly  lovely?  Do  you  know  I  am 
madly  in  love  with  you,  and  that  I  can  hardly  refrain 
from  putting  this  arm,  against  which  you  so  quietly  lean 
your  warm  soft  body,  about  you  ?"  He  looked  boldly  at 
the  red  curves  of  her  lips  and  allowed  himself  to  riot 
in  the  imagination  of  how  deliciously  they  would  yield 
to  his  pressed  against  them.  "My  God !"  he  cried  aloud, 
"to  think  of  it." 

The  two  ladies  turned  their  astonished  eyes  upon  him. 
"What  is  it,  Jack?  Wait,  Tom.  Have  you  lost  some- 
thing?" 

"Yes,  that  is,  I  never  had  it.  No,  go  on,  Tom,  it 
cannot  be  helped  now.  Go  on,  please  do.  What  a  day 
it  is !"  he  continued-  "  'What  a  time  we  are  having/  as 
Miss  Nora  would  say." 

"Yes,  what  a  time !"  exclaimed  Nora,  turning  her  face 
toward  them.  "Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  I  think  I  must  tell 
you  that  your  husband  is  making  love  to  me  so  that  I 
am  quite  losing  my  head." 

"Poor  things,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt.  "How  could 
either  of  you  help  it  ?" 

"Why  is  it  that  all  the  nice  men  are  married?"  in- 
quired Nora. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Nora,"  said  Jack  in  a  pained 
voice. 

"I  mean — why — I'm  afraid  I  can't  fix  that  up,  can  I?" 
she  said,  appealing  to  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt. 

"Certainly  you  can.    What  you  really  mean  is,  why  do 


186  THE  MAJOR 

all  married  men  become  so  nice?"  said  Mrs.  Waring- 
Gaunt . 

"Oh,  thank  you,  the  answer  is  so  obvious.  Do  you 
know,  I  feel  wild  to-day." 

"And  so  do  I,"  replied  Kathleen,  suddenly  waking  to 
life.  "It  is  the  wonderful  air,  or  the  motor,  perhaps." 

"Me,  too,"  exclaimed  Jack  Romayne,  looking  straight 
at  her,  "only  with  me  it  is  not  the  air,  nor  the  motor." 

"What  then!"  said  Kathleen  with  a  swift,  shy  look  at 
him. 

"  'The  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness  and  a  stranger 
intermeddleth  not  with  its  joy.' ' 

"That's  the  Bible,  I  know,"  said  Kathleen,  "and  it 
really  means  'mind  your  own  business.' ' 

"No,  no,  not  that  exactly,"  protested  Jack,  "rather 
that  there  are  things  in  the  heart  too  deep  if  not  for  tears 
most  certainly  for  words.  You  can  guess  what  I  mean, 
Miss  Kathleen,"  said  Jack,  trying  to  get  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  girl,  "there  are  things  that  we 
cannot  trust  to  words,  no,  not  for  all  the  world." 

"I  know  what  you  are  thinking  of,"  replied  Jack.  "Let 
me  guess." 

"No,  no,  you  must  not,  indeed,"  she  replied  quickly. 
"Look,  isn't  that  the  mine?  What  a  crowd  of  people! 
Do  look." 

Out  in  the  valley  before  them  they  could  see  a  pro- 
cession of  teams  and  men  weaving  rhythmic  figures  about 
what  was  discovered  to  be  upon  a  nearer  view  a  road- 
way which  was  being  constructed  to  cross  a  little  coolee 
so  as  to  give  access  to  the  black  hole  on  the  hillside 
beyond  which  was  the  coal  mine.  In  the  noise  and  bustle 
of  the  work  the  motor  came  to  a  stop  unobserved  behind 
a  long  wooden  structure  which  Nora  diagnosed  as  the 
"grub  shack." 

"In  your  English  speech,  Mr.  Romayne,  the  dining 
room  of  the  camp.  He  is  certainly  a  hustler,"  exclaimed 
Nora,  gazing  upon  the  scene  before  them. 

"Who?"  inquired  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt. 


A  DAY  IN  SEPTEMBER         187 

"Ernest  Switzer,"  said  Nora,  unable  to  keep  the 
grudge  out  of  her  voice.  "It  is  only  a  week  since  I  was 
up  here  and  during  that  time  he  has  actually  made  this 
village,  the  streets,  the  sidewalks — and  if  that  is  not 
actually  a  system  of  water  pipes." 

"Some  hustler,  as  you  say,  Miss  Nora,  eh,  what?" 
said  Tom. 

"Wonderful,"  replied  Nora;  "he  is  wonderful." 

Jack  glanced  at  the  girl  beside  him.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  it  needed  no  mind-reader  to  interpret  the  look  of 
pride,  yes  and  of  love,  in  the  wonderful  blue-grey  eyes. 
Sick  as  from  a  heavy  blow  he  turned  away  from  her; 
the  flicker  of  hope  that  his  brother-in-law's  words  had 
kindled  in  his  heart  died  out  and  left  him  cold.  He  was 
too  late;  why  try  to  deceive  himself  any  longer?  The 
only  thing  to  do  was  to  pull  out  and  leave  this  place 
where  every  day  brought  him  intolerable  pain.  But  to- 
day he  would  get  all  he  could,  to-day  he  would  love  her 
and  win  such  poor  scraps  as  he  could  from  her  eyes,  her 
smiles,  her  words. 

"Glorious  view  that,"  he  said,  touching  her  arm  and 
sweeping  his  hand  toward  the  mountains. 

She  started  at  his  touch,  a  faint  colour  coming  into 
her  face.  "How  wonderful!"  she  breathed.  "I  love 
them.  They  bring  me  my  best  thoughts." 

Before  he  could  reply  there  came  from  behind  the 
grub  shack  a  torrent  of  abusive  speech  florid  with  pro- 
fane language  and  other  adornment  and  in  a  voice  thick 
with  rage. 

"That's  him,"  said  Nora.  "Some  one  is  getting  it." 
The  satisfaction  in  her  voice  and  look  were  in  sharp  con- 
trast to  the  look  of  dismay  and  shame  that  covered  the 
burning  face  of  her  sister.  From  English  the  voice 
passed  into  German,  apparently  no  less  vigorous  or 
threatening.  "That's  better,"  said  Nora  with  a  wicked 
glance  at  Romayne.  "You  see  he  is  talking  to  some  one 
of  his  own  people.  They  understand  that.  There  are 


188  THE  MAJOR 

a  lot  of  Germans  from  the  Settlement,  Freiberg,  you 
know." 

As  she  spoke  Switzer  emerged  from  behind  the  shack, 
driving  before  him  a  cringing  creature  evidently  in  ab- 
ject terror  of  him.  "Get  back  to  your  gang  and  carry 
out  your  orders,  or  you  will  get  your  time."  He  caught 
sight  of  the  car  and  stopped  abruptly,  and,  waving  his 
hand  imperiously  to  the  workman,  strode  up  to  the  party, 
followed  by  a  mild-looking  man  in  spectacles. 

"Came  to  see  how  you  are  getting  on,  Switzer,  eh, 
what?"  said  Tom. 

"Getting  on,"  he  replied  in  a  loud  voice,  raising  his 
hat  in  salutation.  "How  can  one  get  on  with  a  lot  of 
stupid  fools  who  cannot  carry  out  instructions  and  dare 
to  substitute  their  own  ideas  for  commands.  They  need 
discipline.  If  I  had  my  way  they  would  get  it,  too. 
But  in  this  country  there  is  no  such  thing  as  discipline." 
He  made  no  attempt  to  apologise  for  his  outrageous  out- 
burst, was  probably  conscious  of  no  need  of  apology. 

"This  is  your  foreman,  I  think  ?"  said  Nora,  who  alone 
of  the  party  seemed  to  be  able  to  deal  with  the  situa- 
tion. 

"Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Steinberg,"  said  Switzer,  presenting  the 
spectacled  man. 

"You  are  too  busy  to  show  us  anything  this  after- 
noon?" said  Nora  sweetly. 

"Yes,  much  too  busy,"  said  Switzer,  gruffly.  "I  have 
no  time  for  anything  but  work  these  days." 

"You  cannot  come  along  for  a  little  shoot?"  she  said, 
innocently.  Nora  was  evidently  enjoying  herself. 

"Shoot!"  cried  Switzer  in  a  kind  of  contemptuous 
fury.  "Shoot,  with  these  dogs,  these  cattle,  tramping 
around  here  when  they  need  some  one  every  minute  to 
drive  them.  Shoot!  No,  no.  I  am  not  a  gentleman  of 
leisure." 

The  distress  upon  Kathleen's  face  was  painfully  ap- 
parent. Jack  was  in  no  hurry  to  bring  relief.  Like 


A  DAY  IN  SEPTEMBER         189 

Nora  he  was  enjoying  himself  as  well.     It  was  Tom 
who  brought  about  the  diversion. 

"Well,  we  must  go  on,  Switzer.  Coming  over  to  see 
you  one  of  these  days  and  go  over  the  plant.  Treasur- 
er's got  to  know  something  about  it,  eh,  what?" 

Switzer  started  and  looked  at  hirr  in  surprise.  "Treas- 
urer, who?  Are  you  to  be  treasurer  of  the  company? 
Who  says  so?  Mr.  Gwynne  did  not  ask — did  not  tell 
me  about  it." 

"Ah,  sorry — premature  announcement,  eh?"  said  Tom. 
"Well,  good-bye.  All  set." 

The  Packard  gave  forth  sundry  growls  and  snorts 
and  glided  away  down  the  trail. 

Nora  was  much  excited.  "What's  this  about  the 
treasurership?"  she  demanded.  "Are  you  really  to  be 
treasurer,  Mr.  Waring-Gaunt ?  I  am  awfully  glad.  You 
know  this  whole  mine  was  getting  terribly  Switzery. 
Isn't  he  awful?  He  just  terrifies  me.  I  know  he  will 
undertake  to  run  me  one  of  these  days." 

"Then  trouble,  eh,  what?"  said  Waring-Gaunt,  pleas- 
antly. 

Aftc:  a  short  run  the  motor  pulled  up  at  a  wheat 
field  in  which  the  shocks  were  still  standing  and  which 
lay  contiguous  to  a  poplar  bluff. 

"Good  chicken  country,  eh?"  said  Tom,  slipping  out 
of  the  car  quietly.  "Nora,  you  come  with  me.  Quiet 
now.  Off  to  the  left,  eh,  what?  You  handle  Sweeper, 
Jack. 

"I'll  drive  the  car,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt.  "Go 
on  with  Jack,  Kathleen." 

"Come  on,  Miss  Kathleen,  you  take  the  gun,  and 
I'll  look  after  the  dog.  Let  me  have  the  whistle,  Tom." 

They  had  not  gone  ten  yards  from  the  car  when  the 
setter  stood  rigid  on  point.  "Steady,  old  boy,"  said 
Jack.  "Move  up  quickly,  Miss  Kathleen.  Is  your  gun 
ready?  Sure  it's  off  safe?" 

"All  right,"  said  the  girl,  walking  steadily  on  the 
dog. 


190  THE  MAJOR 

Bang!  Bang!  went  Nora's  gun.  Two  birds  soared 
safely  aloft.  Bang!  Bang!  went  Kathleen's  gun. 
"Double,  by  jove!  Steady,  Sweeper!"  Again  the  dog 
stood  on  point.  Swiftly  Jack  loaded  the  gun.  "Here  you 
are,  Miss  Kathleen.  You  will  get  another,"  he  said. 
"There  are  more  here."  As  he  spoke  a  bird  flew  up  at 
his  right.  Bang!  went  Kathleen's  gun.  "Another,  good 
work."  Bang!  went  Nora's  gun  to  the  left.  "Look  out, 
here  he  comes,"  cried  Jack,  as  Nora's  bird  came  careen- 
ing across  their  front.  It  was  a  long  shot.  Once  more 
Kathleen  fired.  The  bird  tumbled  in  the  air  and  fell 
with  a  thump  right  at  their  feet. 

Sweeper,  released  from  his  point,  went  bounding  joy- 
fully over  the  stubble.  Jack  rushed  up  toward  the  girl, 
and  taking  her  hand  in  both  of  his,  shook  it  warmly. 
"Oh,  splendid,  partner,  splendid,  great  shooting!" 

"Oh,  it  was  easy.  Sweeper  had  them  fast,"  said 
Kathleen.  "And  that  last  shot  was  just  awfully  good 
luck." 

"Good  luck!  Good  Lord!  it  was  anything  but  luck. 
It  was  great  shooting.  Well,  come  along.  Oh,  we're 
going  to  have  a  glorious  day,  aren't  we,  partner?"  And 
catching  hold  of  her  arm,  he  gave  her  a  friendly  little 
shake. 

"Yes,"  she  cried,  responding  frankly  to  his  mood, 
"we  will.  Let's  have  a  good  day." 

"Where  did  you  learn  to  shoot?"  inquired  Jack. 

"Nora  and  I  have  always  carried  guns  in  the  season," 
replied  Kathleen,  "even  when  we  were  going  to  school. 
You  see,  Larry  hates  shooting.  We  loved  it  and  at 
times  were  glad  to  get  them — the  birds,  I  mean.  We  did 
not  do  it  just  for  sport." 

"Can  your  sister  shoot  as  well  as  you  ?" 

"Hardly,  I  think.  She  pulls  too  quickly,  you  see,  but 
when  she  steadies  down  she  will  shoot  better  than  I." 

"You  are  a  wonder,"  said  Jack  enthusiastically. 

"Oh,  not  a  wonder,"  said  the  girl. 

"Wait  till  I  get  the  birds  back  to  the  car,"  he  cried. 


A  DAY  IN  SEPTEMBER         191 

"He-l-l-o,"  cried  his  sister  as  he  came  running.  "What, 
four  of  them?" 

"Four,"  he  answered.  "By  jove,  she's  a  wonder,  isn't 
she.  She  really  bowls  me  over." 

"Nonsense,"  said  his  sister  in  a  low  voice.  "She's 
just  a  fine  girl  with  a  steady  hand  and  a  quick  eye,  and," 
she  added  as  Jack  turned  away  from  her,  "a  true  heart." 

"A  true  heart,"  Jack  muttered  to  himself,  "and  given 
to  that  confounded  bully  of  a  German.  If  it  had  been 
any  other  man — but  we  have  got  one  day  at  least." 
Resolutely  he  brushed  away  the  thoughts  that  maddened 
him  as  he  ran  to  Kathleen's  side.  Meantime,  Tom  and 
Nora  had  gone  circling  around  toward  the  left  with 
Sweeper  ranging  widely  before  them. 

"Let's  beat  round  this  bluff,"  suggested  Kathleen. 
"They  may  not  have  left  the  trees  yet." 

Together  they  strolled  away  through  the  stubble,  the 
girl  moving  with  an  easy  grace  that  spoke  of  balanced 
physical  strength,  and  with  an  eagerness  that  indicated 
the  keen  hunter's  spirit.  The  bluff  brought  no  result. 

"That  bluff  promised  chickens  if  ever  a  bluff  did," 
said  Kathleen  in  a  disappointed  voice.  "We'll  get  them 
further  down,  and  then  again  in  the  stubble." 

"Cheer-o,"  cried  Jack.  "The  day  is  fine  and  we  are 
having  a  ripping  time,  at  least  I  am." 

"And  I,  too,"  cried  the  girl.  "I  love  this,  the  open 
fields, — and  the  sport,  too." 

"And  gootl  company,"  said  Jack  boldly. 

"Yes,  good  company,  of  course,"  she  said  with  a  quick, 
friendly  glance.  "And  you  are  good  company  to-day." 

"To-day?" 

"Yes.  Sometimes,  you  know,  you  are  rather — I  don't 
know  what  to  say — but  queer,  as  if  you  did  not  like — 
people,  or  were  carrying  some  terrible  secret,"  she  added 
with  a  little  laugh. 

"Secret?  I  am,  but  not  for  long.  I  am  going  to  tell 
you  the  secret.  Do  you  want  to  hear  it  now?" 

The  note  of  desperation  in  his  voice  startled  the  girl. 


192  THE  MAJOR 

"Oh,  no,"  she  cried  hurriedly.  "Where  have  we  got  to? 
There  are  no  birds  in  this  open  prairie  here.  We  must 
get  back  to  the  stubble." 

"You  are  not  interested  in  my  secret,  then?"  said 
Jack.  "But  I  am  going  to  tell  you  all  the  same,  Kath- 
leen." 

"Oh,  please  don't,"  she  replied  in  a  distressed  voice. 
"We  are  having  such  a  splendid  time,  and  besides  we 
are  after  birds,  aren't  we?  And  there  are  the  others," 
she  added,  pointing  across  the  stubble  field,  "and  Sweeper 
is  on  point  again.  Oh,  let's  run."  She  started  forward 
quickly,  her  foot  caught  in  a  tangle  of  vetch  vine  and 
she  pitched  heavily  forward.  Jack  sprang  to  catch  her. 
A  shot  crashed  at  their  ears.  The  girl  lay  prone. 

"My  God,  Kathleen,  are  you  hurt?"  said  Jack. 

"No,  no,  not  a  bit,  but  awfully  scared,"  she  panted. 
Then  she  shrieked,  "Oh,  oh,  oh,  Jack,  you  are  wounded, 
you  are  bleeding  !" 

He  looked  down  at  his  hand.  It  was  dripping  blood. 
"Oh,  oh,"  she  moaned,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 
Then  springing  to  her  feet,  she  caught  up  his  hand  in 
hers. 

"It  is  nothing  at  all,"  he  said.  "I  feel  nothing.  Only 
a  bit  of  skin.  See,"  he  cried,  lifting  his  arm  up.  "There's 
nothing  to  it.  No  broken  bones." 

"Let  me  see,  Jack  —  Mr.  Roma'yne,"  she  said  with 
white  lips 

"Say  'Jack/  "  he  begged. 

"Let  me  take  off  your  coat  —  Jack,  then.  I  know  a 
little  about  this.  I  have  done  something  at  it  in  Winni- 


Together  they  removed  the  coat.  The  shirt  sleeve  was 
hanging  in  a  tangled,  bloody  mass  from  the  arm. 

"Awful!"  groaned  Kathleen.     "Sit  down." 

"Oh,  nonsense,  it  is  not  serious." 

"Sit  down,  Jack,  dear,"  she  entreated,  clasping  her 
hands  about  his  sound  arm, 

"Say  it  again,"  said  Jack. 


A  DAY  IN  SEPTEMBER         193 

"Oh,  Jack,  won't  you  sit  down,  please?" 

"Say  it  again,"  he  commanded  sternly. 

"Oh,  Jack,  dear,  please  sit  down,"  she  cried  in  a  piti- 
ful voice. 

He  sat  down,  then  lay  back  reclining  on  his  arm, 
"Now  your  knife,  Jack,"  she  said,  feeling  hurriedly 
through  his  pockets. 

"Here  you  are,"  he  said,  handing  her  the  knife,  biting 
his  lips  the  while  and  fighting  back  a  feeling  of  faint- 
ness. 

Quickly  slipping  behind  him,  she  whipped  off  her  white 
petticoat  and  tore  it  into  strips.  Then  cutting  the  bloody 
shirt  sleeve,  she  laid  bare  the  arm.  The  wound  was  super- 
ficial. The  shot  had  torn  a  wide  gash  little  deeper  than 
the  skin  from  wrist  to  shoulder,  with  here  and  there  a 
bite  into  the  flesh.  Swiftly,  deftly,  with  fingers  that  nev- 
er fumbled,  she  bandaged  the  arm,  putting  in  little  pads 
where  the  blood  seemed  to  be  pumping  freely. 

"That's  fine,"  said  Jack.  "You  are  a  brick,  Kathleen. 
I  think — I  will — just  lie  down — a  bit.  I  feel — rather 
rotten."  As  he  spoke  he  caught  hold  of  her  arm  to 
steady  himself.  She  caught  him  in  her  arms  and  eased 
him  down  upon  the  stubble.  With  eyes  closed  and  a 
face  that  looked  like  death  he  lay  quite  still. 

"Jack,"  she  cried  aloud  in  her  terror.  "Don't  faint. 
You  must  not  faint." 

But  white  and  ghastly  he  lay  unconscious,  the  blood 
still  welling  right  through  the  bandages  on  his  wounded 
arm.  She  knew  that  in  some  way  she  must  stop  the 
bleeding.  Swiftly  she  undid  the  bandages  and  found  a 
pumping  artery  in  the  forearm.  "What  is  it  that  they 
do?"  she  said  to  herself.  Then  she  remembered.  Mak- 
ing a  tourniquet,  she  applied  it  to  the  upper  arm.  Then 
rolling  up  a  bloody  bandage  into  a  pad,  she  laid  it  upon 
the  pumping  artery  and  bound  it  firmly  down  into  place. 
Then  flexing  the  forearm  hard  upon  it,  she  bandaged  all 
securely  again.  Still  the  wounded  man  lay  unconscious 
The  girl  was  terrified.  She  placed  her  hand  over  his 


194  THE  MAJOR 

heart.  It  was  beating  but  very  faintly.  In  the  agony 
and  terror  of  the  moment  as  in  a  flash  of  light  her  heart 
stood  suddenly  wide  open  to  her,  and  the  thing  that  for 
the  past  months  had  lain  hidden  within  her  deeper  than 
her  consciousness,  a  secret  joy  and  pain,  leaped  strong 
and  full  into  the  open,  and  she  knew  that  this  man  who 
lay  bleeding  and  ghastly  before  her  was  dearer  to  her 
than  her  own  life.  The  sudden  rush  of  this  conscious- 
ness sweeping  like  a  flood  over  her  soul  broke  down 
and  carried  away  the  barrier  of  her  maidenly  reserve. 
Leaning  over  him  in  a  passion  of  self-abandonment,  she 
breathed,  "Oh,  Jack,  dear,  dear  Jack."  As  he  lay  there 
white  and  still,  into  her  love  there  came  a  maternal  ten- 
der yearning  of  pity.  She  lifted  his  head  in  her  arm, 
and  murmured  brokenly,  "Oh,  my  love,  my  dear  love." 
She  kissed  him  on  his  white  lips. 

At  the  touch  of  her  lips  Jack  opened  his  eyes,  gazed 
at  her  for  a  moment,  then  with  dawning  recognition,  he 
said  with  a  faint  smile,  "Do — it — again." 

"Oh,  you  heard,"  she  cried,  the  red  blood  flooding 
face  and  neck,  "but  I  don't  care,  only  don't  go  off  again. 
You  will  not,  Jack,  you  must  not." 

"No — I  won't,"  he  said.  "It's  rotten — of  me — to  act 
— like  this  and — scare  you — to  death.  Give  me — a  lit- 
tle— time.  I  will  be — all  right." 

"If  they  would  only  come!  If  I  could  only  do  some- 
thing!" 

"You're  all  right — Kathleen.  Just  be — patient  with 
me — a  bit.  I  am  feeling — better  every  minute." 

For  a  few  moments  he  lay  quiet.  Then  with  a  little 
smile  he  looked  up  at  her  again  and  said,  "I  would  go 
off  again  just  to  hear  you  say  those  words  once  more." 

"Oh,  please  don't,"  she  entreated,  hiding  her  face. 

"Forgive  me,  Kathleen,  I  am  a  beast.  Forget  it.  I 
am  feeling  all  right.  I  believe  I  could  sit  up." 

"No,  no,  no,"  she  cried.    "Lie  a  little  longer." 

She  laid  his  head  down,  ran  a  hundred  yards  to  the 
wheat  field,  returning  with  two  sheeves,  and  made  a 


A  DAY  IN  SEPTEMBER         195 

support  for  his  head  and  shoulders.  "That  is  better," 
she  said. 

"Good  work/'  he  said.  "Now  I  am  going-  to  be  fit  for 
anything  in  a  few  moments.  But,"  he  added,  "you  look 
rather  badly,  as  if  you  might  faint  yourself." 

"I?  What  difference  does  it  make  how  I  look?  I 
am  quite  right.  If  they  would  only  come !  I  know  what 
I  will  do,"  she  cried.  "Where  are  your  cartridges?" 
She  loaded  the  gun  and  fired  in  quick  succession  half  a 
dozen  shots.  "I  think  I  see  them,"  she  exclaimed,  "but 
I  am  not  sure  that  they  heard  me."  Again  she  fired 
several  shots. 

"Don't  worry  about  it,"  said  Jack,  into  whose  face  the 
colour  was  beginning  to  come  back.  "They  are  sure 
to  look  us  up.  Just  sit  down,  won't  you  please,  beside 
me  here?  There,  that's  good,"  he  continued,  taking  her 
hand.  "Kathleen,"  he  cried,  "I  think  you  know  my 
secret." 

"Oh,  no,  no,  please  don't,"  she  implored,  withdrawing 
her  hand  and  hiding  her  face  from  him.  "Please  don't 
be  hard  on  me.  I  really  do  not  know  what  I  am  doing 
and  I  arn  feeling  dreadfully." 

"You  have  reason  to  feel  so,  Kathleen.  You  have 
been  splendidly  brave,  and  I  give  you  my  word  I  am  not 
going  to  worry  you." 

"Oh,  thank  you;  you  are  so  good,  and  I  love  you  for 
it,"  she  cried  in  a  passion  of  gratitude.  "You  under- 
stand,  don't  you?" 

"I  think  I  do,"  he  said.  "By  the  way,  do  you  know 
I  think  I  could  smoke." 

"Oh,  splendid!"  she  cried,  and,  springing  up,  she 
searched  through  his  coat  pockets,  found  pipe,  pouch, 
matches,  and  soon  he  had  his  pipe  going.  "There,  that 
looks  more  like  living,"  said  Kathleen,  laughing  some- 
what hysterically.  "Oh,  you  did  frighten  me!"  Again 
the  red  flush  came  into  her  face  and  she  turned  away 
from  him.  g 


196  THE  MAJOR 

"There  they  are  coming.  Sure  enough,  they  are  com- 
ing," she  cried  with  a  sob  in  her  voice. 

"Steady,  Kathleen,"  said  Jack  quietly.  "You  won't 
blow  up  now,  will  you?  You  have  been  so  splendid! 
Can  you  hold  on?" 

She  drew  a  deep  breath,  stood  for  a  minute  or  two  in 
perfect  silence,  and  then  she  said,  "I  can  and  I  will. 
I  am  quite  right  now." 

Of  course  they  exclaimed  and  stared  and  even  wept 
a  bit — at  least  the  ladies  did — but  Jack's  pipe  helped  out 
amazingly,  and,  indeed,  he  had  recovered  sufficient 
strength  to  walk  unhelped  to  the  car.  And  while  Tom 
sent  the  Packard  humming  along  the  smooth,  resilient 
road  he  kept  up  with  Nora  and  his  sister  a  rapid  fire  of 
breezy  conversation  till  they  reached  their  own  door.  It 
was  half  an  hour  before  Tom  could  bring  the  doctor, 
during  which  time  they  discussed  the  accident  in  all  its 
bearings  and  from  every  point  of  view. 

"I  am  glad  it  was  not  I  who  was  with  you,"  declared 
Nora.  "I  cannot  stand  blood!  and  I  certainly  should 
have  fainted,  and  what  would  you  have  done  then?" 

"Not  you,"  declared  Jack.  "That  sort  of  thing  does 
not  go  with  your  stock.  God  knows  what  would  have 
happened  to  me  if  I  had  had  a  silly  fool  with  me,  for 
the  blood  was  pumping  out  all  over  me.  But,  thank  God, 
I  had  a  woman  with  a  brave  heart  and  clever  hands." 

When  the  doctor  came,  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  went  in 
to  assist  him,  but  when  the  ghastly  bloody  spectacle  lay 
bare  to  her  eyes  she  found  herself  grow  weak  and  hur- 
ried to  the  kitchen  where  the  others  were. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  silly,"  she  said,  "but  I  am  afraid  I  can- 
not stand  the  sight  of  it." 

Kathleen  sprang  at  once  to  her  feet.  "Is  there  no 
one  there  ?"  she  demanded  with  a  touch  of  impatience  in 
her  voice,  and.  passed  quickly  into  the  room,  where  she 
stayed  while  the  doctor  snipped  off  the  frayed  patches  of 
skin  and  flesh  and  tied  up  the  broken  arteries,  giving  aid 
with  quick  fingers  and  steady  hands  till  all  was  over. 


A  DAY  IN  SEPTEMBER         197 

"You  have  done  this  sort  of  thing  before,  Miss 
Gwynne?"  said  the  doctor. 

"No,  never,"   she  replied. 

"Well,  you  certainly  are  a  brick,"  he  said,  turning  ad- 
miring eyes  upon  her.  He  was  a  young  man  and  un- 
married. "But  this  is  a  little  too  much  for  you."  From 
a  decanter  which  stood  on  a  side  table  he  poured  out  a 
little  spirits.  "Drink  this,"  he  said. 

"No,  thank  you,  Doctor,  I  am  quite  right,"  said  Kath- 
leen, quietly  picking  up  the  bloody  debris  and  dropping 
them  into  a  basin  which  she  carried  into  the  other  room. 
"He  is  all  right  now,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt, 
who  took  the  basin  from  her,  exclaiming, 

"My  poor  dear,  you  are  awfully  white.  I  am  ashamed 
of  myself.  Now  you  must  lie  down  at  once." 

"No,  please,  I  shall  go  home,  I  think.  Where  is 
Nora?" 

"Nora  has  gone  home.  You  won't  lie  down  a  little? 
Then  Tom  shall  take  you  in  the  car.  You  are  perfectly 
splendid.  I  did  not  think  you  had  it  in  you." 

"Oh,  don't,  don't,"  cried  the  girl,  a  quick  rush  of 
tears  coming  to  her  eyes.  "I  must  go,  I  must  go.  Oh,  I 
feel  terrible.  I  don't  know  what  I  have  done.  Let  me 
go  home."  She  almost  pushed  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  from 
her  and  went  out  of  the  house  and  found  Tom  standing 
by  the  car  smoking. 

"Take  her  home,  Tom,"  said  his  wife.  "She  needs 
rest." 

"Come  along,  Kathleen;  rest — well,  rather.  Get  in 
beside  me  here.  Feel  rather  rotten,  eh,  what?  Fine 
bit  of  work,  good  soldier — no,  don't  talk — monologue 
indicated."  And  monologue  it  was  till  he  delivered  her, 
pale,  weary  and  spent,  to  her  mother. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AN  EXTRAORDINARY   NURSE 

A  LETTER  for  you,  Nora,"  said  Larry,  coming  just 
in  from  the  post  office. 

"From  Jane!"  cried  Nora,  tearing  open  the  letter. 
"Oh,  glory,"  she  continued.  "They  are  coming.  Let's 
see,  written  on  the  ninth,  leaving  to-morrow  and  arrive 
at  Melville  Station  on  the  twelfth.  Why,  that's  to- 
morrow." 

"Who,  Nora?"  said  Larry.     "Jane?" 

"Yes.  Jane  and  her  father.  She  says,  'We  mean  to 
stay  two  or  three  days,  if  you  can  have  us,  on  our  way  to 
Banff.' ' 

"Hurrah !  Good  old  Jane !  What  train  did  you  say?" 
cried  Larry. 

"Sixteen- forty-five  to-morrow  at  Melville  Station." 

"  'We'll  have  one  trunk  and  two  boxes,  so  you  will 
need  some  sort  of  rig,  I  am  afraid.  I  hope  this  will  not 
be  too  much  trouble.'  ' 

"Isn't  that  just  like  Jane?"  said  Larry.  "I  bet  you 
she  gives  the  size  of  the  trunk,  doesn't  she,  Nora?" 

"A  steamer  trunk  and  pretty  heavy,  she  says." 

"Same  old  girl.  Does  she  give  you  the  colour?"  in- 
quired Larry.  "Like  an  old  maid,  she  is." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Nora,  closing  up  her  letter.  "Oh, 
it's  splendid.  Let's  see,  it  is  eight  years  since  we  saw 
her." 

"Just  about  fifteen  months  since  I  saw  her,"  said 
Larry. 

"And  about  four  months  for  me,"  said  Kathleen. 

"But  eight  years  for  me,"  cried  Nora,  "and  she  has 

198 


AN  EXTRAORDINARY  NURSE    199 

never  missed  writing  me  every  week,  except  once  when 
she  had  the  mumps,  and  she  made  her  father  write  that 
week.  Now  we  shall  have  to  take  our  old  democrat  to 
meet  her,  the  awful  old  thing,"  said  Nora  in  a  tone  of 
disgust. 

"Jane  won't  mind  if  it  is  a  hayrack,"  said  Larry. 

"No,  but  her  father.  He's  such  a  swell.  I  hate  meet- 
ing him  with  that  old  bone  cart.  But  we  can't  help  it. 
Oh,  I  am  just  nutty  over  her  coming.  I  wonder  what 
she's  like?" 

"Why,  she's  the  same  old  Jane,"  said  Larry.  "Thafs 
one  immense  satisfaction  about  her.  She  is  always  the 
same,  no  matter  when,  how  or  where  you  meet  her. 
There's  never  a  change  in  Jane." 

"I  wonder  if  she  has  improved — got  any  prettier,  I 
mean." 

"Prettier!  What  the  deuce  are  you  talking  about?" 
said  Larry  indignantly.  "Prettier!  Like  a  girl  that  is! 
You  never  think  of  looks  when  you  see  Jane.  All  you 
see  is  just  Jane  and  her  big  blue  eyes  and  her  smile. 
Prettier!  Who  wants  her  prettier?" 

"Oh,  all  right,  Larry.  Don't  fuss.  She  is  plain-look- 
ing, you  know.  But  she  is  such  a  good  sort.  I  must 
tell  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt." 

"Do,"  said  Larry,  "and  be  sure  to  ask  her  for  her 
car." 

Nora  made  a  face  at  him,  but  ran  to  the  'phone  and 
in  an  ecstatic  jumble  of  words  conveyed  the  tremendous 
news  to  the  lady  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire  and  to  all 
the  ears  that  might  be  open  along  the  party  line. 

"Is  that  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt? — It's  Nora  speaking.  I 
have  the  most  glorious  news  for  you.  Jane  is  coming! 
— You  don't  know  Jane?  My  friend,  you  know,  in 
Winnipeg.  You  must  have  often  heard  me  speak  of  her. 
— What? — Brown. — No,  Brown,  B-r-o-w-n.  And  she's 
coming  to-morrow. — No,  her  father  is  with  her. — Yes, 
Dr.  Brown  of  Winnipeg. — Oh,  yes.  Isn't  it  splendid? — • 
Three  days  only,  far  too  short.  And  we  meet  her  to* 


200  THE  MAJOR 

morrow. — I  beg  your  pardon? — Sixteen- forty-five,  she 
says,  and  she  is  always  right.  Oh,  a  change  in  the  time 
table  is  there? — Yes,  I  will  hold  on. — Sixteen- forty-five, 
I  might  have  known. — What  do  you  say? — Oh,  could 
you?  Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  how  perfectly 
splendid  of  you!  But  are  you  sure  you  can? — Oh,  you 
are  just  lovely. — Yes,  she  has  one  trunk,  but  that  can 
come  in  the  democrat.  Oh,  that  is  perfectly  lovely! 
Thank  you. so  much.  Good-bye. — What?  Yes,  oh,  yes, 
certainly  I  must  go. — Will  there  be  room  for  him?  I 
am  sure  he  will  love  to  go.  That  will  make  five,  you 
know,  and  they  have  two  bags.  Oh,  lovely;  you  are 
awfully  good. — We  shall  need  to  start  about  fifteen 
o'clock.  Good-bye.  Oh,  how  is  Mr.  Romayne? — Oh,  I 
am  so  sorry,  it  is  too  bad.  But,  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt, 
you  know  Dr.  Brown  is  a  splendid  doctor,  the  best  in 
Winnipeg,  one  of  the  best  in  Canada.  He  will  tell  you 
exactly  what  to  do. — I  beg  your  pardon? — Yes,  she's 
here.  Kathleen,  you  are  wanted.  Hurry  up,  don't  keep 
her  waiting.  Oh,  isn't  she  a  dear?" 

"What  does  she  want  of  me?"  said  Kathleen,  a  flush 
coming  to  her  cheek. 

"Come  and  see,"  said  Nora,  covering  the  transmitter 
with  her  hand,  "and  don't  keep  her  waiting.  What  is 
the  matter  with  you?" 

Reluctantly  Kathleen  placed  the  receiver  to  her  ear. 
"Yes,  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  it  is  Kathleen  speaking. — Yes, 
thank  you,  quite  well. — Oh,  I  have  been  quite  all  right, 
a  little  shaken  perhaps. — Yes,  isn't  it  splendid?  Nora 
is  quite  wild,  you  know.  Jane  is  her  dearest  friend  and 
she  has  not  seen  her  since  we  were  children,  but  they 
have  kept  up  a  most  active  correspondence.  Of  course, 
I  saw  a  great  deal  of  her  last  year.  She  is  a  splendid 
girl  and  they  were  so  kind ;  their  house  was  like  a  home 
to  me.  I  am  sure  it  is  very  kind  of  you  to  offer  to  meet 
them. — I  beg  your  pardon? — Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  to  hear 
that.  We  thought  he  was  doing  so  well.  What  brought 
that  on? — Blood-poisoning! — Oh,  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt, 


AN  EXTRAORDINARY  NURSE    201 

you  don't  say  so  ?  How  terrible !  Isn't  it  good  that  Dr. 
Brown  is  coming?  He  will  know  exactly  what  is  wrong. 
— Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  to  hear  that.  Sleeplessness  is  so 
trying. — Yes — Yes — Oh,  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  I  am 
afraid  I  couldn't  do  that."  Kathleen's  face  had  flushed 
bright  crimson.  "But  I  am  sure  Mother  would  be  so 
glad  to  go,  and  she  is  a  perfectly  wonderful  nurse.  She 
knows  just  what  to  do. — Oh,  I  am  afraid  not.  Wait, 
please,  a  moment." 

"What  does  she  want?"  asked  Nora. 

Kathleen  covered  the  transmitter  with  her  hand.  "She 
wants  me  to  go  and  sit  with  Mr.  Romayne  while  she 
drives  you  to  the  station.  I  cannot,  I  cannot  do  that. 
Where  is  Mother?  Oh,  Mother,  I  cannot  go  to  Mrs. 
Waring-Gaunt's.  I  really  cannot." 

"What  nonsense,  Kathleen!"  cried  Nora  impatiently. 
"Why  can't  you  go,  pray?  Let  me  speak  to  her."  She 
took  the  receiver  from  her  sister's  hand.  "Yes,  Mrs. 
Waring-Gaunt,  it  is  Nora. — I  beg  your  pardon? — Oh, 
yes,  certainly,  one  of  us  will  be  glad  to  go. — No,  no,  cer- 
tainly not.  I  would  not  have  Mr.  Waring-Gaunt  leave 
his  work  for  the  world. — I  know,  I  know,  awfully  slow 
for  him.  We  had  not  heard  of  the  change.  It  is  too 
bad. — Yes,  surely  one  of  us  will  be  glad  to  come.  We 
will  fix  it  up  some  way.  Good-bye." 

Nora  hung  up  the  receiver  and  turned  fiercely  upon  her 
sister.  "Now,  what  nonsense  is  this,"  she  said,  "and  she 
being  so  nice  about  the  car,  and  that  poor  man  suffering 
there,  and  we  never  even  heard  that  he  was  worse  ?  He 
'  was  doing  so  splendidly,  getting  about  all  right.  Blood- 
poisoning  is  so  awful.  Why,  you  remember  the  Mills 
boy?  He  almost  lost  his  arm." 

"Oh,  my  dear  Nora,"  said  her  mother.  "There  is 
no  need  of  imagining  such  terrible  things,  but  I  am  glad 
Dr.  Brown  is  to  be  here.  It  is  quite  providential.  I  am 
sure  he  will  put  poor  Mr.  Romayne  right.  Kathleen, 
dear,"  continued  the  mother,  turning  to  her  elder  daugh- 
ter, "I  think  it  would  be  very  nice  if  you  would  run  over 


202  THE  MAJOR 

to-morrow  while  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  drives  to  the  sta- 
tion. I  am  sure  it  is  very  kind  of  her." 

"I  know  it  is,  Mother  dear,"  said  Kathleen.  "But 
don't  you  think  you  would  be  so  much  better?" 

"Oh,  rubbish !"  cried  Nora.  "If  it  were  not  Jane  that 
is  coming,  I  would  go  myself ;  I  would  only  be  too  glad  to 
go.  He  is  perfectly  splendid,  so  patient,  and  so  jolly  too, 
and  Kathleen,  you  ought  to  go." 

"Nora,  dear,  we  won't  discuss  it,"  said  the  mother  in 
the  tone  that  the  family  knew  meant  the  end  of  all  con- 
versation. Kathleen  hurried  away  from  them  and  took 
refuge  in  her  own  room.  Then  shutting  the  door,  she 
began  pacing  the  floor,  fighting  once  more  the  battle  which 
during  that  last  ten  days  she  had  often  fought  with  her- 
self and  of  which  she  was  thoroughly  weary.  "Oh,"  she 
groaned,  wringing  her  hands,  "I  cannot  do  it.  I  cannot 
look  at  him."  She  thought  of  that  calm,  impassive  face 
which  for  the  past  three  months  this  English  gentleman 
had  carried  in  all  of  his  intercourse  with  her,  and  over 
against  that  reserve  of  his  she  contrasted  her  own  pas- 
sionate abandonment  of  herself  in  that  dreadful  moment 
of  self-revelation.  The  contrast  caused  her  to  writhe  in 
an  agony  of  self-loathing.  She  knew  little  of  men,  but 
instinctively  she  felt  that  in  his  sight  she  had  cheapened 
herself  and  never  could  she  bear  to  look  at  him  again. 
She  tried  to  recall  those  glances  of  his  and  those  broken, 
passionate  words  uttered  during  the  moments'  of  his  phys- 
ical suffering  that  seemed  to  mean  something  more  than 
friendliness.  Against  these,  however,  was  the  con- 
stantly recurring  picture  of  a  calm  cold  face  and  of  inter- 
course marked  with  cool  indifference.  "Oh,  he  cannot 
love  me,"  she  cried  to  herself.  "I  am  sure  he  does  not 
love  me,  and  I  just  threw  myself  at  him."  In  her  march 
up  and  down  the  room  she  paused  before  her  mirror  and 
looked  at  the  face  that  stared  so  wildly  back  at  her.  Her 
eyes  rested  on  the  red  line  of  her  mouth.  "Oh,"  she 
groaned,  rubbing  vigorously  those  full  red  lips.  "I  just 
kissed  him."  She  paused  in  the  rubbing  operation, 


AN  EXTRAOEDINARY  NURSE    203 

gazed  abstractedly  into  di?  glass ;  a  tender  glow  drove  the 
glare  from  her  eyes,  a  delicious  softness  as  from  some 
inner  well  overflowed  her  countenance,  the  red  blood 
surged  up  into  her  white  face ;  she  fled  from  her  accusing 
mirror,  buried  her  burning  face  in  the  pillow  in  an  exul- 
tation of  rapture.  She  dared  not  put  into  words  the 
thoughts  that  rioted  in  her  heart.  "But  I  loved  it,  I 
loved  it ;  I  am  glad  I  did."  Lying  there,  she  strove  to  re- 
call in  shameless  abandon  the  sensation  of  those  ecstatic 
moments,  whispering  in  passionate  self -defiance,  "I  don't 
care  what  he  thinks.  I  don't  care  if  I  was  horrid.  I 
am  not  sorry.  Besides,  he  looked  so  dreadful."  But  she 
was  too  honest  not  to  acknowledge  to  herself  that  not  for 
pity's  sake  but  for  love's  she  had  kissed  him,  and  with- 
out even  his  invitation.  Then  once  again  she  recalled 
the  look  in  his  eyes  of  surprise  in  the  moment  of  his 
returning  consciousness,  and  the  little  smile  that  played 
around  his  lips.  Again  wave  upon  wave  of  sickening 
self-loathing  flooded  from  her  soul  every  memory  of  the 
bliss  of  that  supreme  moment.  Even  now  she  could  feel 
the  bite  of  the  cold,  half  humorous  scorn  in  the  eyes 
that  had  opened  upon  her  as  she  withdrew  her  lips  from 
his.  On  the  back  of  this  came  another  memory,  sharp 
and  stabbing,  that  this  man  was  ill,  perhaps  terribly  ill. 
"We  are  a  little  anxious  about  him,"  his  sister  had  said, 
and  she  had  mentioned  the  word  "blood-poisoning."  Of 
the  full  meaning  of  that  dread  word  Kathleen  had  little 
knowledge,  but  it  held  for  her  a  horror  of  something  un- 
speakably dangerous.  He  had  been  restless,  sleepless, 
suffering  for  the  last  two  days  and  two  nights.  That 
very  night  and  that  very  hour  he  was  perhaps  tossing  in 
fever.  An  uncontrollable  longing  came  over  her  to  go 
to  him.  Perhaps  she  might  give  him  a  few  hours'  rest, 
might  indeed  help  to  give  him  the  turn  to  health  again. 
After  all,  what  mattered  her  feelings.  What  difference 
if  he  should  despise  her,  provided  she  brought  him  help 
in  an  hour  of  crisis.  Physically  weary  with  the  long 
struggle  through  which  she  had  been  passing  during  the 


204  THE  MAJOR 

last  ten  days,  sick  at  heart,  and  torn  with  anxiety  for 
the  man  she  loved,  she  threw  herself  upon  her  bed  and 
abandoned  herself  to  a  storm  of  tears.  Her  mother 
came  announcing  tea,  but  this  she  declined,  pleading  head- 
ache and  a  desire  to  sleep.  But  no  sooner  had  her 
mother  withdrawn  than  she  rose  from  her  bed  and  with 
deliberate  purpose  sat  herself  down  in  front  of  her  mir- 
ror again.  She  would  have  this  out  with  herself  now. 
"Well,  you  are  a  beauty,  sure  enough,"  she  said,  address- 
ing her  swollen  and  disfigured  countenance.  "Why  can't 
you  behave  naturally?  You  are  acting  like  a  fool  and 
you  are  not  honest  with  yourself.  Come  now,  tell  the 
truth  for  a  few  minutes  if  you  can.  Do  you  want  to 
go  and  see  this  man  or  not?  Answer  truly."  "Well, 
I  do  then."  The  blue  eyes  looked  back  defiantly  at  her. 
"Why?  to  help  him?  for  his  sake?  Come,  the  truth." 
"Yes,  for  his  sake,  at  least  partly."  "And  for  your  own 
sake,  toe?  Come  now,  none  of  that.  Never  mind  the 
blushing."  "Yes,  for  my  own  sake,  too."  "Chiefly  for 
your  own  sake?"  "No,  I  do  not  think  so.  Chiefly  I 
wish  to  help  him."  "Then  why  not  go?"  Ah,  this  is  a 
poser.  She  looks  herself  fairly  in  the  eye,  distinctly 
puzzled.  Why  should  she  not  simply  go  to  him  and  help 
him  through  a  bad  hour?  With  searching,  deliberate 
persistence  she  demanded  an  answer.  She  will  have 
the  truth  out  of  herself.  "Why  not  go  to  him  if  you  so 
desire  to  help  him?"  "Because  I  am  ashamed,  because 
I  have  made  myself  cheap,  and  I  cannot  bear  his  eyes 
upon  me.  Because  if  I  have  made  a  mistake  and  he 
does  not  care  for  me — oh,  then  I  never  want  to  see  him 
again,  for  he  would  pity  me,  and  that  I  cannot  bear." 
"What?  Not  even  to  bring  him  rest  and  relief  from  his 
pain  ?  Not  to  help  him  in  a  critical  hour  ?  He  has  been 
asking  for  you,  remember."  Steadily  they  face  each 
other,  eye  to  eye,  and  all  at  once  she  is  conscious  that  the 
struggle  is  over,  and,  looking  at  the  face  in  the  glass, 
she  says,  "Yes,  I  think  I  would  be  willing  to  do  that  for 
him,  no  matter  how  it  would  shame  me."  Another  heart- 


AN  EXTRAORDINARY  NURSE    205 

searching  pause,  and  the  eyes  answer  her  again,  "I  will 
go  to-morrow."  At  once  she  reads  a  new  peace  in  the 
face  that  gazes  at  her  so  weary  and  wan,  and  she  knows 
that  for  the  sake  of  the  man  she  loves  she  is  willing  to 
endure  even  the  shame  of  his  pity.  The  battle  was  over 
and  some  sort  of  victory  at  least  she  had  won.  An  eager 
impatience  possessed  her  to  go  to  him  at  once.  "I  wish 
it  were  to-morrow  now,  this  very  minute." 

She  rose  and  looked  out  into  the  night.  There  was 
neither  moon  nor  stars  and  a  storm  was  brewing,  but 
she  knew  she  could  find  her  way  in  the  dark.  Quietly 
and  with  a  great  peace  in  her  heart  she  bathed  her  swol- 
len face,  changed  her  dress  to  one  fresh  from  the  iron- 
ing board — pale  blue  it  was  with  a  dainty  vine  running 
through  it — threw  a  wrap  about  her  and  went  out  to  her 
mother. 

"I  am  going  up  to  the  Waring-Gaunts',  Mother.  They 
might  need  me,"  she  said  in  a  voice  of  such  serene  con- 
trol that  her  mother  only  answered, 

"Yes,  dear,  Larry  will  go  with  you.  He  will  soon  be 
in." 

"There  is  no  need,  Mother,  I  am  not  afraid." 

Her  mother  made  no  answer  but  came  to  her  and  with 
a  display  of  tenderness  unusual  between  them  put  her 
arms  about  her  and  kissed  her.  "Good-night,  then,  dar- 
ling; I  am  sure  you  will  do  them  good." 

The  night  was  gusty  and  black,  but  Kathleen  had  no 
fear.  The  road  was  known  to  her.  and  under  the  im- 
pulse of  the  purpose  that  possessed  her  she  made  noth- 
ing of  the  darkness  nor  or  the  approaching  storm.  She 
hurried  down  the  lane  toward  the  main  trail,  refusing 
to  discuss  with  herself  the  possible  consequence  of  what 
she  was  doing.  Nor  did  she  know  just  what  situation 
she  might  find  at  the  Waring-Gaunts'.  They  would 
doubtless  be  surprised  to  see  her.  They  might  not  need 
her  help  at  all.  She  might  be  going  upon  a  fool's  er- 
rand, but  all  these  suppositions  and  forebodings  she 
brushed  aside.  She  was  bent  upon  an  errand  of  simple 


206  THE  MAJOR 

kindness  and  help.  If  she  found  she  was  not  needed  she 
could  return  home  and  no  harm  done. 

Receiving  no  response  to  her  knock,  she  went  quietly 
into  the  living  room.  A  lamp  burned  low  upon  the  ta- 
ble. There  was  no  one  to  be  seen.  Upstairs  a  child 
was  wailing  and  the  mother's  voice  could  be  heard  sooth- 
ing the  little  one  to  sleep.  From  a  bedroom,  of  which 
the  door  stood  open,  a  voice  called.  The  girl's  heart 
stood  still.  It  was  Jack's  voice,  and  he  was  calling  for 
his  sister.  She  ran  upstairs  to  the  children's  room. 

"He  is  calling  for  you,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Waring- 
Gaunt  without  preliminary  greeting.  "Let  me  take 
Doris." 

But  Doris  set  up  a  wail  of  such  acute  dismay  that  the 
distracted  mother  said,  "Could  you  just  step  in  and  see 
what  is  wanted?  Jack  has  been  in  bed  for  two  days. 
We  have  been  unable  to  get  a  nurse  anywhere,  and  to- 
night both  little  girls  are  ill.  I  am  so  thankful  you  came 
over.  Indeed,  I  was  about  to  send  for  one  of  you. 
Just  run  down  and  see  what  Jack  wants.  I  hope  you 
don't  mind.  I  shall  be  down  presently  when  Doris  goes 
to  sleep." 

"I  am  not  going  to  sleep,  Mamma,"  answered  Doris 
emphatically.  "I  am  going  to  keep  awake,  for  if  I  go 
to  sleep  I  know  you  will  go  away." 

"All  right,  darling,  Mother  is  going  to  stay  with  you," 
and  she  took  the  little  one  in  her  arms,  adding,  "Now 
we  are  all  right,  aren't  we." 

Kathleen  ran  downstairs,  turned  up  the  light  in  the 
living  room  and  passed  quietly  into  the  bedroom. 

"Sorry  to  trouble  you,  Sybil,  but  there's  something 
wrong  with  this  infernal  bandage." 

Kathleen  went  and  brought  in  the  lamp.  "Your  sister 
cannot  leave  Doris,  Mr.  Romayne,"  she  said  quietly. 
"Perhaps  I  can  be  of  use." 

For  a  few  moments  the  sick  man  gazed  at  her  as  at 
a  vision.  "Is  this  another  of  them?"  he  said  wearily. 
"I  have  been  having  hallucinations  of  various  sorts  for 


AN  EXTRAORDINARY  NURSE     207 

the  last  two  days,  but  you  do  look  real.  It  is  you,  Kath- 
leen, isn't  it?"' 

"Really  me,  Mr.  Romayne,"  said  the  girl  cheerfully. 
"Let  me  look  at  your  arm." 

"Oh,  hang  it,  say  'Jack/  won't  you,  and  be  decent  to  a 
fellow.  My  God,  I  have  wanted  you  for  these  ten  days. 
Why  didn't  you  come  to  me?  What  did  I  do?  I 
hurt  you  somehow,  but  you  know  I  wouldn't  willingly. 
Why  have  you  stayed  away  from  me?"  He  raised  him- 
self upon  his  elbow,  his  voice  was  high,  thin,  weak,  his 
eyes  glittering,  his  cheeks  ghastly  with  the  high  lights  of 
fever  upon  them. 

Shocked,  startled  and  filled  with  a  poignant  mother- 
ing pity,  Kathleen  struggled  with  a  longing  to  take  him 
in  her  arms  and  comfort  him  as  the  mother  was  the  little 
wailing  child  upstairs. 

"Excuse  me  just  a  moment,"  she  cried,  and  ran  out 
{nto  the  living  room  and  then  outside  the  door  and  stood 
for  a  moment  in  the  dark,  drawing  deep  breaths  and 
struggling  to  get  control  of  the  pity  and  of  the  joy  that 
surged  through  her  heart.  "Oh,  God,"  she  cried,  lifting 
her  hands  high  above  her  head  in  appeal,  "help  me  to  be 
strong  and  steady.  He  needs  me  and  he  wants  me  too." 

From  the  darkness  in  answer  to  her  appeal  there  came 
a  sudden  quietness  of  nerve  and  a  sense  of  strength  and 
fitness  for  her  work.  Quickly  she  entered  the  house  and 
went  again  to  the  sick  room. 

"Thank  God,"  cried  Jack.  "I  thought  I  was  fooled 
again.  You  won't  go  away,  Kathleen,  for  a  little  while, 
will  you?  I  feel  just  like  a  kiddie  in  the  dark,  do  you 
know?  Like  a  fool  rather.  You  won't  go  again?"  He 
raised  himself  upon  his  arm,  the  weak  voice  raised  to  a 
pitiful  appeal. 

It  took  all  her  own  fortitude  to  keep  her  own  voice 
steady.  "No,  Jack,  I  am  going  to  stay.  I  am  your 
nurse,  you  know,  and  I  am  your  boss  too.  You  must 
do  just  as  I  say.  Remember  that.  You  must  behave 
yourself  as  a  sick  man  should." 


208  THE  MAJOR 

He  sank  back  quietly  upon  the  pillow.  "Thank  God. 
Anything  under  heaven  I  promise  if  only  you  stay,  Kath- 
leen. You  will  stay,  won't  you?" 

"Didn't  you  hear  me  promise?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  a  great  relief  in  his  tired  face. 
"All  right,  I  am  good.  But  you  have  made  me  suffer, 
Kathleen." 

"Now,  then,  no  talk,"  said  Kathleen.  "We  will  look 
at  that  arm." 

She  loosened  the  bandages. '  The  inflamed  and  swollen 
appearance  of  the  arm  sickened  and  alarmed  her.  There 
was  nothing  she  could  do  there.  She  replaced  the  ban- 
dages. "You  are  awfully  hot.  I  am  going  to  sponge 
your  face  a  bit  if  you  will  let  me." 

"Go  on,"  he  said  gratefully,  "do  anything  you  like 
if  only  you  don't  go  away  again." 

"Now,  none  of  that.  A  nurse  doesn't  run  away  from 
her  job,  does  she?"  She  had  gotten  control  of  herself, 
and  her  quick,  clever  fingers,  with  their  firm,  cool  touch, 
seemed  to  bring  rest  to  the  jangling  nerves  of  the  sick 
man.  Whatever  it  was,  whether  the  touch  of  her  fingers 
or  the  relief  of  the  cool  water  upon  his  fevered  face  and 
arm,  by  the  time  the  bathing  process  was  over,  Jack  was 
lying  quietly,  already  rested  and  looking  like  sleep. 

"I  say,  this  is  heavenly,"  he  murmured.  "Now  a 
drink,  if  you  please.  I  believe  there  is  medicine  about 
due  too,"  he  said.  She  gave  him  a  drink,  lifting  up  his 
head  on  her  strong  arm.  "I  could  lift  myself,  you 
know,"  he  said,  looking  up  into  her  face  with  a  little 
smile,  "but  I  like  this  way  so  much  better  if  you  don't 
mind." 

"Certainly  not;  I  am  your  nurse,  you  know,"  replied 
Kathleen.  "Now  your  medicine."  She  found  the  bot- 
tle under  his  direction  and,  again  lifting  his  head,  gave 
him  his  medicine. 

"Oh,  this  is  fine.  I  will  take  my  medicine  as  often  as 
you  want  me  to,  and  I  think  another  drink  would  be 
good."  She  brought  him  the  glass.  "I  like  to  drink 


AN  EXTRAORDINARY  NURSE     209 

slowly,"  he  said,  looking  up  into  her  eyes.  But  she  shook 
her  head  at  him. 

"No  nonsense  now,"  she  warned  him. 

"Nonsense!"  he  said,  sinking  back  with  a  sigh,  "I 
want  you  to  believe  me,  Kathleen,  it  is  anything  but 
nonsense.  My  God,  it  is  religion!" 

"Now  then,"  said  Kathleen,  ignoring  his  words,  "I 
shall  just  smooth  out  your  pillows  and  straighten  dowu 
your  bed,  tuck  you  in  and  make  you  comfortable  for  the 
night  and  then " 

"And  then,"  he  interrupted  eagerly,  "oh,  Kathleen, 
all  good  children  get  it,  you  know." 

A  deep  flush  tinged  her  face,  "Now  you  are  not  be- 
having properly." 

"But,  Kathleen,"  he  cried,  "why  not?  Listen  to  me. 
There's  no  use.  I  cannot  let  you  go  till  I  have  this 
settled.  I  must  know.  No,  don't  pull  away  from  me, 
Kathleen.  You  know  I  love  you,  with  all  my  soul,  with 
all  I  have,  I  love  you.  Oh,  don't  pull  away  from  me. 
Ever  since  that  day  when  I  first  saw  you  three  months 
ago  I  have  loved  you.  I  have  tried  not  to.  God  knows 
I  have  tried  not  to  because  I  thought  you  were  pledged 
to  that — that  German  fellow.  Tell  me,  Kathleen.  Why 
you  are  shaking,  darling!  Am  I  frightening  you?  I 
would  not  frighten  you.  I  would  not  take  advantage  of 
you.  But  do  you  care  a  little  bit?  Tell  me.  I  have 
had  ten  days  of  sheer  hell.  For  one  brief  minute  I 
thought  you  loved  me.  You  almost  said  you  did.  But  then 
you  never  came  to  me  and  I  have  feared  that  you  did 
not  care.  But  to-night  I  must  know.  I  must  know 
now."  He  raised  himself  up  to  a  sitting  posture.  "Tell 
me,  Kathleen ;  I  must  know." 

"Oh,  Jack,"  she  panted.  "You  are  not  yourself  now. 
You  are  weak  and  just  imagine  things." 

"Imagine  things,"  he  cried  with  a  kind  of  fierce  rage. 
"Imagine!  Haven't  I  for  these  three  montns  fought 
against  this  every  day?  Oh,  Kathleen,  if  you  only 
knew.  Do  you  love  me  a  little,  even  a  little  ?" 


210  THE  MAJOR 

Suddenly  the  girl  ceased  her  struggling.  "A  little!" 
she  cried.  "No,  Jack,  not  a  little,  but  with  all  my  heart 
I  love  you.  I  should  not  tell  you  to-night,  and,  oh,  I 
meant  to  be  so  strong  and  not  let  you  speak  till  you 
were  well  again,  but  I  can't  help  it.  But  are  you  quite 
sure,  Jack?  Are  you  sure  you  won't  regret  this  when 
you  are  well  again?" 

He  put  his  strong  arm  round  about  her  and  drew  her 
close.  "I  can't  half  hold  you,  darling/'  lie  said  in  her 
ear.  "This  confounded  arm  of  mine — but  you  do  it  for 
me.  Put  your  arms  around  me,  sweetheart,  and  tell  me 
that  you  love  me." 

She  wreathed  her  arms  round  about  his  neck  and  drew 
him  close.  "Oh,  Jack,"  she  said,  "I  may  be  wrong,  but 
I  arn  so  happy,  and  I  never  thought  to  be  happy  again. 
I  cannot  believe  it.  Oh,  what  awful  days  these  have 
been!"  she  said  with  a  break  in  her  voice  and  hiding  her 
face  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Never  mind,  sweetheart,  think  of  all  the  days  before 
us." 

"Are  you  sure,  Jack?"  she  whispered  to  him,  still  hid- 
ing her  face.  "Are  you  very  sure  that  you  will  not  be 
ashamed  of  me?  I  felt  so  dreadful  and  I  came  in  just 
to  help  you,  and  I  was  so  sure  of  myself.  But  when  I 
saw  you  lying  there,  Jack,  I  just  could  not  help  myself." 
Her  voice  broke. 

He  turned  her  face  up  a  little  toward  him.  "Look 
at  me,"  he  said.  She  opened  her  eyes  and,  looking  stead- 
ily into  his,  held  them  there.  "Say,  'Jack,  I  love  you,' " 
he  whispered  to  her. 

A  great  flood  of  red  blood  rushed  over  her  face,  then 
faded,  leaving  her  white,  but  still  her  eyes  held  his  fast. 
"Jack,"  she  whispered,  "my  Jack,  I  love  you." 

"Kathleen,  dear  heart,"  he  said. 

Closer  he  drew  her  lips  toward  his.  Suddenly  she 
closed  her  eyes,  her  whole  body  relaxed,  and  lay  limp 
against  him.  As  his  lips  met  hers,  her  arms  tightened 


AN  EXTRAORDINARY  NURSE    211 

about  him  and  held  mm  in  a  strong  enter  ace.  Then  she 
opened  her  eyes,  raised  herself  up,  ana  gazed  at  him 
as  if  in  surprise.  "Oh,  Jack,"  she  cried,  "I  cannot  think 
it  is  true.  Are  you  sure?  I  could  not  bear  it  if  you 
were  mistaken." 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  footstep  on  the  stair.  "Let 
me  go,  Jack;  there's  your  sister  coming.  Quick!  Lie 
down."  Hurriedly,  she  began  once  more  to  bathe  his 
face  as  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  came  in. 

"Is  he  resting?"  she  said.  "Why,  Jack,  you  seem 
quite  feverish.  Did  you  give  him  his  medicine  ?" 

"Yes,  about  an  hour  ago,  I  think." 

"An  hour!  Why,  before  you  came  upstairs?  How 
long  have  you  been  in  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  immediately  after  I  carne  down,"  said  the 
girl  in  confusion.  "I  don't  know  how  long  ago.  I 
didn't  look  at  the  time."  She  busied  herself  straighten- 
ing the  bed. 

"Sybil,  she  doesn't  know  how  long  ago,"  said  Jack. 
"She's  been  behaving  as  I  never  have  heard  of  any 
properly  trained  nurse  behaving.  She's  been  kissing 
me." 

"Oh,  Jack,"  gasped  Kathleen,  flushing  furiously. 

"Kissing  you !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other. 

"Yes,  and  I  have  been  kissing  her,"  continued  Jack 
shamelessly. 

"Oh,  Jack,"  again  gasped  Kathleen,  looking  at  Mrs. 
Waring-Gaunt  beseechingly. 

"Yes,"  continued  Jack  in  a  voice  of  triumph,  "and 
we  are  going  to  do  it  right  along  every  day  and  all  day 
long  with  suitable  pauses  for  other  duties  and  pleas- 
ures." 

"Oh,  you  darling,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt 
rushing  at  her.  "I  am  so  glad.  Well,  you  are  a  'wun- 
ner'  as  the  Marchioness  says.  I  had  thought — but  never 
mind.  Jack,  dear,  I  do  congratulate  you.  I  think  you 


212  THE  MAJOR 

are  in  awful  luck.    Yes,  and  you  too,  Kathleen,  for  he 
is  a  fine  boy.    I  will  go  and  tell  Tom  this  minute." 

"Do,"  said  Jack,  "and  please  don't  hurry.  My  nurse 
is  perfectly  competent  to  take  care  of  me  in  the  mean- 
time." 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  COMING  OF  JANE 

AT  sixteen-forty-five  the  Waring-Gaunt  car  was 
standing  at  the  Melville  Station  awaiting  the  arrival 
of  the  train  which  was  to  bring  Jane  and  her  father,  but 
no  train  was  in  sight.  Larry,  after  inquiry  at  the  wicket, 
announced  that  she  was  an  nour  late.  How  much  more 
the  agent,  after  the  exasperating  habit  of  railroad  offi- 
cials, could  not  say,  nor  could  he  assign  an,v  reason  for 
the  delay. 

"Let  me  talk  to  him,"  said  Nora  impatiently.  "I 
know  Mr.  Field." 

Apparently  the  official  reserve  in  which  Mr.  Field  had 
wrapped  himself  was  not  proof  against  the  smile  which 
Nora  flung  at  him  through  the  wicket 

"We  really  cannot  say  how  late  she  will  be,  Miss  Nora. 
I  may  tell  you,  but  we  are  not  saying  anything  about  it. 
that  there  has  been  an  accident." 

"An  accident!"  exclaimed  Nora.  "Why,  we  are  ex- 
pecting  " 

"No,  there  is  no  one  hurt.  A  freight  has  been  de- 
railed, and  torn  up  the  track  a  oit.  The  passenger  train 
is  held  up  just  beyond  Fairfield.  It  will  be  a  couple  of 
hours,  perhaps  three,  before  she  arrives."  At  this  point 
the  telegraph  instrument  clicked.  "Just  a  minute,  Miss 
Nora,  there  may  be  something  on  the  wire."  With  his 
fingers  on  the  key  he  executed  some  mysterious  presti- 
digitations, wrote  down  some  words,  and  came  to  the 
wicket  again.  "Funny."  he  said,  "it  is  a  wire  for  you, 
Miss  Nora." 

Nora  took  the  yellow  slip  and  read :     "Delayed  by  de- 


THE  MAJOR 

railed  freight.  Time  of  arrival  uncertain.  Very  sorry, 
Jane." 

"What  do  you  think  of  this?"  cried  Nora,  carrying 
the  telegram  out  to  the  car.  "Isn't  it  perfectly  exasper- 
ating? That  takes  off  one  of  their  nights." 

"Where  is  the  accident?"  inquired  Mrs.  Waring- 
Gaunt. 

"Just  above  Fairfield." 

"Fairfield!  The  poor  things!  Jump  in  and  we  will 
be  there  in  no  time.  It  is  not  much  further  to  Wolf 
Willow  from  Fairfield  than  from  here.  Hurry  up,  we 
must  make  time." 

"Now,  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  I  know  your  driving. 
Just  remember  that  I  am  an  only  son.  I  prefer  using  all 
four  wheels  on  curves,  please." 

"Let  her  go,"  cried  Nora. 

And  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  "let  her  go"  at  such  speed 
that  Larry  declared  he  had  time  for  only  two  perfectly 
deep  breaths,  one  before  they  started,  the  other  after 
they  had  pulled  up  beside  the  Pullman  car  at  the  scene 
of  the  wreck. 

"Jane,  Jane,  Jane,"  yelled  Larry,  waving  his  hands 
wildly  to  a  girl  who  was  seen  sitting  beside  a  window 
reading.  The  girl  looked  up,  sprang  from  her  seat,  and 
in  a  moment  or  two  appeared  on  the  platform.  "Come 
on,"  yelled  Larry.  He  climbed  over  a  wire  fence,  and 
up  the  steep  grade  of  the  railroad  embankment.  Down 
sprang  the  girl,  met  him  half  way  up  the  embankment, 
and  gave  him  both  her  hands.  "Jane,  Jane,"  exclaimed 
Larry.  "You  are  looking  splendidly.  Do  you  know," 
he  added  in  a  low  voice,  "I  should  love  to  kiss  you  right 
here.  May  I  ?  Look  at  all  the  people ;  they  would  enjoy 
it  so  much." 

The  girl  jerked  away  her  hands,  the  blood  showing 
dully  under  her  brown  skin.  "Stop  it,  you  silly  boy. 
Is  that  Nora?  Yes,  it  is."  She  waved  her  hand  wildly 
at  Nora,  who  was  struggling  frantically  with  the  barbed 
wire  fence.  "Wait,  I  am  coming,  Nora,"  cried  Jane. 


THE  COMING  OF  JANE         215 

Down  the  embankment  she  scrambled  and,  over  the 
wire,  the  two  girls  embraced  each  other  to  the  delight 
of  the  whole  body  of  the  passengers  gathered  at  win- 
dows and  on  platforms,  and  to  the  especial  delight  of  a 
handsome  young  giant,  resplendent  in  a  new  suit  of 
striped  flannels,  neglige  shirt,  blue  socks  with  tie  to 
match,  and  wearing  a  straw  hat  adorned  with  a  band  in 
college  colours.  With  a  wide  smile  upon  his  face  he 
stood  gazing  down  upon  the  enthusiastic  osculation  of 
the  young  ladies. 

"Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  this  is  Jane,"  cried  Nora.  "Mrs. 
Waring-Gaunt  has  come  to  meet  you  and  take  you 
home,"  she  added  to  Jane.  "You  know  we  have  no  car 
of  our  own." 

''How  do  you  do,"  said  Jane,  smiling  at  Mrs.  Waring- 
Gaunt.  "I  can't  get  at  you  very  well  just  now.  It  wa& 
very  kind  of  you  to  come  for  us." 

"And  she  has  left  her  brother  very  sick  at  home,"  said 
Nora  in  a  low  voice. 

"We  won't  keep  you  waiting,"  said  Jane,  beginning  J.o 
scramble  up  the  bank  again.  "Come,  Larry,  I  shall  get 
father  and  you  shall  help  with' our  things." 

"Right  you  are,"  said  Larry. 

"Met  your  friends,  I  see,  Miss  Brown,"  said  the  hand- 
some giant.  "I  know  it  is  mean  of  me,  but  I  am  really 
disgusted.  It  is  bad  enough  to  be  held  up  here  for  a 
night,  but  to  lose  your  company  too." 

"Well,  I  am  awfully  glad,"  said  Jane,  giving  him  such 
a  delighted  smile  that  he  shook  his  head  disconsolately. 

"No  need  telling  me  that.  Say,"  he  added  in  an  un- 
dertone, "that's  your  friend  Nora,  ain't  it?  Stunning 
girl.  Introduce  me,  won't  you?" 

"Yes,  if  you  will  help  me  with  my  things.  I  am  in  an 
awful  hurry  and  don't  want  to  keep  them  waiting. 
Larry,  this  is  Mr.  Dean  Wakeham."  The  young  man 
shook  hands  with  cordial  frankness,  Larry  with  suspi- 
cion in  his  heart. 


216  THE  MAJOR 

"Let  me  have  your  check,  Jane,  and  I  will  go  and  get 
your  trunk,"  said  Larry. 

"No,  you  come  with  me,  Larry/'  said  Jane  decidedly. 
"The  trunk  is  too  big  for  you  to  handle.  Mr.  Wake- 
ham,  you  will  get  it  for  me,  won't  you,  please?  I  will 
send  a  porter  to  help." 

"Gladly,  Miss  Brown.  No,  I  mean  with  the  deepest 
pain  and  regret,"  said  Wakeham,  going  for  the  trunk 
while  Larry  accompanied  her  in  quest  of  the  minor 
impedimenta  that  constituted  her  own  and  her  father's 
baggage. 

"Jane,  have  you  any  idea  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  ?" 
demanded  Larry  as  they  passed  into  the  car. 

Jane's  radiant  smile  transformed  her  face.  "Yes,  I 
think  so,"  she  said  simply.  "But  we  must  hurry.  Oh, 
here  is  Papa.'"' 

Dr.  Brown  hailed  Larry  with  acclaim.  "This  is  very 
kind  of  you,  my  dear  boy;  you  have  saved  us  a  tedious 
wait." 

"We  must  hurry,  Papa,"  said  Jane,  cutting  him  short. 
"Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  who  has  come  for  us  in  her  car, 
has  left  her  brother  ill  at  home."  She  marshalled  them 
promptly  into  the  car  and  soon  had  them  in  line  for  the 
motor,  bearing  the  hand  baggage  and  wraps,  the  por- 
ter following  with  Jane's  own  bag.  "Thank  you,  por- 
ter," said  Jane,  giving  him  a  smile  that  reduced  that  func- 
tionary to  the  verge  of  grinning  imbecility,  and  a  tip 
which  he  received  with  an  air  of  absent-minded  indiffer- 
ence. "Good-bye,  porter;  you  have  made  us  very  com- 
fortable," said  Jane,  shaking  hands  with  him. 

"Thank  you,  Miss;  it  shuah  is  a  pleasuah  to  wait  on 
a  young  lady  like  you,  Miss.  It  shuah  is,  Miss.  Ah 
wish  you  a  prospec  jounay,  Miss,  Ah  do." 

"I  wonder  what  is  keeping  Mr.  Wakeham,"  said  Jane. 
"I  am  very  sorry  to  keep  you  waiting,  Mrs.  Waring- 
Gaunt.  Larry,  would  you  mind?" 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Larry,  hurrying  off  toward  the 
baggage  car.  In  a  few  minutes  Mr.  Wakeham  appeared 


THE  COMING  OF  JANE         217 

with  the  doleful  news  that  the  trunk  was  not  in  the  car 
and  must  have  been  left  behind. 

"I  am  quite  sure  it  is  there,"  said  Jane,  setting  off 
herself  for  the  car,  the  crestfallen  Mr.  Wakeham  and 
the  porter  following  behind  her. 

At  the  door  of  the  car  the  baggage  man  met  her  with 
regretful  apologies.  "The  trunk  must  have  been  left 
behind." 

He  was  brusquely  informed  by  Jane  that  she  had  seen  it 
put  on  board. 

"Then  it  must  have  been  put  off  by  mistake  at  Cal- 
gary/'' This  suggestion  was  brushed  aside  as  unworthy 
of  consideration.  The  trunk  was  here  in  this  car,  she 
was  sure.  This  the  baggage  man  and  Mr.  Wakeham 
united  in  declaring  quite  impossible.  "We  have  turned 
the  blasted  car  upside  down,"  said  the  latter. 

"Impossible?"  exclaimed  Jane,  who  had  been  explor- 
ing the  dark  recesses  of  the  car.  "Why,  here  it  is,  I 
knew  it  was  here." 

"Hurrah,"  cried  Larry,  "we  have  got  it  anyway." 

Mr.  Wakeham  and  the  baggage  man  went  to  work  to 
extricate  the  trunk  from  the  lowest  tier  of  boxes.  They 
were  wise  enough  to  attempt  no  excuse  or  explanation, 
and  in  Jane's  presence  they  felt  cribbed,  cabined  and 
confined  in  the  use  of  such  vocabulary  as  they  were 
wont  to  consider  appropriate  to  the  circumstances,  and  in 
which  they  prided  themselves  as  being  adequately  expert. 
A  small  triumphal  procession  convoyed  the  trunk  to  the 
motor,  Jane  leading  as  was  fitting,  Larry  and  Mr.  Wake- 
ham  forming  the  rear  guard.  The  main  body  consisted 
of  the  porter,  together  with  the  baggage  man,  who,  un- 
der a  flagellating  sense  of  his  incompetence,  was  so  moved 
from  his  wonted  attitude  of  haughty  indifference  as  to 
the  fate  of  a  piece  of  baggage  committed  to  his  care 
when  once  he  had  contemptuously  hurled  it  forth  from 
the  open  door  of  his  car  as  to  personally  aid  in  conduct- 
ing by  the  unusual  and  humiliating  process  of  actually 
handling  this  particular  bit  of  baggage  down  a  steep  and 


218  THE  MAJOR 

gravelly  bank  and  over  a  wire  fence  and  into  a  motor 
car. 

"Jane's  a  wonder,"  confided  Larry  to  Mr.  Wakeham. 

"She  sure  is,"  said  that  young  man.  "You  cannot  slip 
anything  past  her,  and  she's  got  even  that  baggage  man 
tamed  and  tied  and  ready  to  catch  peanuts  in  his  mouth. 
First  time  I  have  seen  that  done." 

"You  just  wait  till  she  smiles  her  farewell  at  him," 
said  Larry,  hugely  enjoying  the  prospect. 

Together  they  stood  awaiting  the  occurrence  of  this 
phenomenon.  "Gosh-a-mighty,  look  at  him,"  murmured 
Mr.  Wakeham.  "Takes  it  like  pie.  He'd  just  love  to 
carry  that  blasted  trunk  up  the  grade  and  back  to  the 
car,  if  she  gave  him  the  wink.  Say,  she  ain't  much  to 
look  at,  but  somehow  she's  got  me  handcuffed  and 
chained  to  her  chariot  wheels.  Say,"  he  continued  with 
a  shyness  not  usual  with  him,  "would  you  mind  introduc- 
ing me  to  the  party?" 

"Come  along,"  said  Larry. 

The  introduction,  however,  was  performed  by  Jane, 
who  apparently  considered  Mr.  Wakeham  as  being  un- 
der her  protection.  "Mrs.  WaYing-Gaunt,  this  is  Mr. 
Wakeham.  Mr.  Wakeham  is  from  Chicago,  but,"  she 
hastened  to  add,  "he  knows  some  friends  of  ours  in 
Winnipeg." 

"So  you  see  I  am  fairly  respectable,"  said  Mr.  Wake- 
ham,  shaking  hand  with  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  and  Nora. 

When  the  laughter  had  ceased,  Mr.  Wakeham  said, 
*'If  your  car  were  only  a  shade  larger  I  should  beg  hos- 
pitality along  with  Dr.  and  Miss  Brown." 

"Room  on  the  top,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  with  a 
smile,  "but  it  seems  the  only  place  left.  You  are  just 
passing  through,  Mr.  Wakeham?" 

"Yes,  I  am  going  on  to  Manor  Mine." 

"Oh,  that's  only  twenty  miles  down  the  line." 

"Then  may  I  run  up  to  see  you?"  eagerly  asked  Mr. 
Wakeham. 


THE  COMING  OF  JANE         219 

"Certainly,  we  shall  be  delighted  to  see  you,"  said  the 
lady. 

"Count  on  me,  then,"  said  the  delighted  Mr.  Wake- 
ham,  lifting  his  hat  in  farewell. 

Dr.  Brown  took  his  place  in  the  front  seat  beside  Mrs. 
Waring-Gaunt,  the  three  young  people  occupying  the 
seat  in  the  rear. 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Larry  when  they  had  finally  got 
under  way. 

"A  friend  of  the  James  Hurrays  in  Winnipeg.  You 
remember  them,  don't  you?  Ethel  Murray  was  in  your 
year.  He  is  very  nice  indeed,  don't  you  think  so,  Papa  ?" 
said  Jane,  appealing  to  her  father. 

"Fine  young  chap,"  said  Dr.  Brown  with  emphasis. 
"His  father  is  in  mines  in  rather  a  big  way,  I  believe. 
Lives  in  Chicago,  has  large  holdings  in  Alberta  coal 
mines  about  here  somewhere,  I  fancy.  The  young  man 
is  a  recent  graduate  from  Cornell  and  is  going  into  his 
father's  business.  He  strikes  me  as  an  exceptionally 
able  young  fellow."  And  for  at  least  five  miles  of  the 
way  Dr.  Brown  discussed  the  antecedents,  the  character, 
the  training,  the  prospects  of  the  young  American  till 
Larry  felt  qualified  to  pass  a  reasonably  stiff  examination 
on  that  young  man's  history,  character  and  career. 

"Now  tell  me,"  said  Larry  to  Jane  at  the  first  real 
opening  that  offered,  "what  does  this  talk  about  a  three 
days'  visit  to  us  mean.  The  idea  of  coming  a  thousand 
miles  on  your  first  visit  to  your  friends,  some  of  whom 
you  have  not  seen  for  eight  years  and  staying  three 
days!" 

"You  see  Papa  is  on  his  way  to  Banff,"  explained  Jane, 
"and  then  he  goes  to  the  coast  and  he  only  has  a  short 
time.  So  we  could  plan  only  for  three  days  here." 

"We  can  plan  better  than  that,"  said  Larry  confidently, 
"but  never  mind  just  now.  We  shall  settle  that  to-mor- 
row." 

The  journey  home  was  given  to  the  careful  recital  of 
news  of  Winnipeg,  of  the  'Varsity,  and  of  mutual 


220  THE  MAJOR 

friends.  It  was  like  listening  to  the  reading  of  a  diary 
to  hear  Jane  bring  up  to  date  the  doings  and  goings  and 
happenings  in  the  lives  of  their  mutual  friends  for  the 
past  year.  Gossip  it  was,  but  of  such  kindly  nature  as 
left  no  unpleasant  taste  in  the  mouth  and  gave  no  un- 
pleasant picture  of  any  living  soul  it  touched. 

"Oh,  who  do  you  think  came  to  see  me  two  weeks 
ago?  An  old  friend  of  yours,  Hazel  Sleighter.  Mrs. 
Phillips  she  is  now.  She  has  two  lovely  children.  Mr. 
Phillips  is  in  charge  of  a  department  in  Eaton's  store." 

"You  don't  tell  me,"  cried  Larry.  "How  is  dear 
Hazel?  How  I  loved  her  once!  I  wonder  where  her 
father  is  and  Tom  and  the  little  girl.  What  was  her 
name  ?" 

"Ethel  May.  Oh,  she  is  married  too,  in  your  old 
home,  to  Ben — somebody." 

"Ben,  big  Ben  Hopper?  Why,  think  of  that  kid  mar- 
ried." 

"She  is  just  my  age,"  said  Jane  soberly,  glad  of  the 
dusk  of  the  falling  night.  She  would  have  hated  to 
have  Larry  see  the  quick  flush  that  came  to  her  cheek. 
Why  the  reference  to  Ethel  May's  marriage  should  have 
made  her  blush  she  hardly  knew,  and  that  itself  was 
enough  to  annoy  her,  for  Jane  always  knew  exactly  why 
she  did  things. 

"And  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sleighter,"  said  Jane,  continuing 
her  narrative,  "have  gone  to  Toronto.  They  have  be- 
come quite  wealthy,  Hazel  says,  and  Tom  is  with  his 
father  in  some  sort  of  financial  business.  What  is  it, 
Papa?" 

Dr.  Brown  suddenly  waked  up.  "What  is  what,  my 
dear?  You  will  have  to  forgive  me.  This  wonderful 
scenery,  these  hills  here  and  those  mountains  are  absorb- 
ing my  whole  attention.  So  wonderful  it  all  is  that  I 
hardly  feel  like  apologising  to  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  for 
ignoring  her." 

"Don't  think  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt 

"Do  you  know,  Jane,"  continued  Dr.  Brown,  "that  at 


THE  COMING  OF  JANE         221 

this  present  moment  you  are  passing  through  scenery  of 
its  kind  unsurpassed  possibly  in  the  world?" 

"I  was  talking  to  Larry,  Papa,"  said  Jane,  and  they 
all  laughed  at  her. 

"I  was  talking  to  Jane,"  said  Larry. 

"But  look  at  this  world  about  you,"  continued  her 
father,  "and  look,  do  look  at  the  moon  coming  up  behind 
you  away  at  the  prairie  rim."  They  all  turned  about 
except  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  whose  eyes  were  glued  to 
the  two  black  ruts  before  her  cutting  through  the  grass. 
"Oh,  wonderful,  wonderful,"  breathed  Dr.  Brown. 
"Would  it  be  possible  to  pause,  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  at 
the  top  of  this  rise?" 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  "but  at  the  top  of  the 
rise  beyond,  where  you  will  get  the  full  sweep  of  the 
country  in  both  directions." 

"Is  that  where  we  get  your  lake,  Nora,"  inquired 
Jane,  "and  the  valley  beyond  up  to  the  mountains  ?" 

"How  do  you  know  ?"  said  Nora. 

"I  remember  Larry  told  me  once,"  she  said. 

"That's  the  spot,"  said  Nora.  "But  don't  look  around 
now.  Wait  until  you  are  told." 

"Papa,"  said  Jane  in  a  quiet,  matter-of-fact  voice, 
"what  is  it  that  Tom  is  doing?"  Larry  shouted. 

"Tom,  what  Tom?  Jane,  my  dear,"  said  Dr.  Brown 
in  a  pained  voice,  "does  Tom  matter  much  or  any  one 
else  in  the  midst  of  all  this  glory?" 

"I  think  so,  Papa,"  said  Jane  firmly.  "You  matter, 
don't  you?  Everybody  matters.  Besides,  we  were  told 
not  to  look  until  we  reached  the  top." 

"Well,  Jane,  you  are  an  incorrigible  Philistine,"  said 
her  father,  "and  I  yield.  Tom's  father  is  a  broker,  and 
Tom  is  by  way  of  being  a  broker  too,  though  I  doubt 
if  he  is  broking  very  much.  May  I  dismiss  Tom  for  a 
few  minutes  now?"  Again  they  all  laughed. 

"I  don't  see  what  you  are  all  laughing  at,"  said  Jane, 
and  lapsed  into  silence. 

"Now  then,"  cried  Nora,  "in  three  minutes." 


222  THE  MAJOR 

At  the  top  of  the  long,  gently  rising  hill  the  motor 
pulled  up,  purring  softly.  They  all  stood,  up  and  gazed 
around  about  them.  "Look  back,"  commanded  Nora. 
"It  is  fifty  miles  to  that  prairie  rim  there."  From  their 
feet  the  prairie  spread  itself  in  long  softly  undulating 
billows  to  the  eastern  horizon,  the  hollows  in  shadow, 
the  crests  tipped  with  the  silver  of  the  rising  moon. 
Here  and  there  wreaths  of  mist  lay  just  above  the 
shadow  lines,  giving  a  ghostly  appearance  to  the  hills. 
"Now  look  this  way,"  said  Nora,  and  they  turned  about. 
Away  to  the  west  in  a  flood  of  silvery  light  the  prairie 
climbed  by  abrupt  steps,  mounting  ever  higher  over 
broken  rocky  points  and  rocky  ledges,  over  bluffs  of 
poplar  and  dark  masses  of  pine  and  spruce,  up  to  the  grey, 
bare  sides  of  the  mighty  mountains,  up  to  their  snow 
peaks  gleaming  elusive,  translucent,  faintly  discernible 
against  the  blue  of  the  sky.  In  the  valley  immediately  at 
their  feet  the  waters  of  the  little  lake  gleamed  like  a  pol- 
ished shield  set  in  a  frame  of  ebony.  "That's  our  lake/' 
said  Nora,  "with  our  house  just  behind  it  in  the  woods. 
And  nearer  in  that  little  bluff  is  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt's 
home." 

"Papa,"  said  Jane  softly,  "we  must  not  keep  Mrs. 
War  ing-Gaunt." 

"Thank  you,  Jane,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt.  "I 
fear  I  must  go  on." 

"Don't  you  love  it?"  inquired  Larry  enthusiastically 
and  with  a  touch  of  impatience  in  his  voice. 

"Oh,  yes,  it  is  lovely,"  said  Jane. 

"But,  Jane,  you  will  not  get  wild  over  it,"  said  Larry. 

"Get  wild?  I  love  it,  really  I  do.  But  why  should  I 
get  wild  over  it.  Oh,  I  know  you  think,  and  Papa 
thinks,  that  I  am  awful.  He  says  I  have  no  poetry  in 
me,  and  perhaps  he  is  right." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  car  stopped  at  the  door  of  Mrs. 
War  ing-Gaunt' s  house.  "I  shall  just  run  in  for  a  mo- 
ment," said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt.  "Kathleen  will  want 


THE  COMING  OF  JANE         223 

to  see  you,  and  perhaps  will  go  home  with  you.  i  shall 
send  her  out." 

Out  from  the  vine-shadowed  porch  into  the  white  light 
came  Kathleen,  stood  a  moment  searching  the  faces  of 
the  party,  then  moved  toward  Dr.  Brown  with  her  hands 
eagerly  stretched  out.  "Oh,  Dr.  Brown,"  she  cried,  "it 
is  so  good  to  see  you  here." 

"But  my  dear  girl,  my  dear  girl,  how  wonderful  you 
look!  Why,  you  have  actually  grown  more  beautiful 
than  when  we  saw  you  last !" 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Dr.  Brown.  And  there  is  Jane," 
cried  Kathleen,  running  around  to  the  other  side  of  the 
car.  "It  is  so  lovely  to  see  you  and  so  good  of  you  to 
come  to  us,"  she  continued,  putting  her  arms  around 
Jane  and  kissing  her. 

"I  wanted  to  come,  you  know,"  said  Jane. 

"Yes,  it  is  Jane's  fault  entirely,"  said  Dr.  Brown.  "I 
confess  I  hesitated  to  impose  two  people  upon  you  this 
way,  willy-nilly.  But  Jane  would  have  it  that  you  would 
be  glad  to  have  us." 

"And  as  usual  Jane  was  right,"  said  Larry  with  em- 
phasis. 

"Yes,"  said  Kathleen,  "Jane  was  right.  Jane  is  a 
dear  to  think  that  way  about  us.  Dr.  Brown,"  con- 
tinued Kathleen  with  a  note  of  anxiety  in  her  voice, 
"Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  wondered  if  you  would  mind  com- 
ing in  to  see  her  brother.  He  was  wounded  with  a  gun- 
shot in  the  arm  about  ten  days  ago.  Dr.  Hudson,  who 
was  one  of  your  pupils,  I  believe,  said  he  would  like  to 
have  you  see  him  when  you  came.  I  wonder  if  you 
would  mind  coming  in  now."  Kathleen's  face  was 
flushed  and  her  words  flowed  in  a  hurried  stream. 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  answered  the  doctor,  rising 
hastily  from  the  motor  and  going  in  with  Kathleen. 

"Oh,  Larry,"  breathed  Jane  in  a  rapture  of  delight, 
"isn't  she  lovely,  isn't  she  lovely  ?  I  had  no  idea  she  was 
so  perfectly  lovely."  Not  the  moon,  nor  the  glory  of  the 
landscape  with  all  its  wonder  of  plain  and  valley  and 


224  THE  MAJOR 

mountain  peak  had  been  able  to  awaken  Jane  to  ecstasy, 
but  the  rare  loveliness  of  this  girl,  her  beauty,  her  sweet 
simplicity,  had  kindled  Jane  to  enthusiasm. 

"Well,  Jane,  you  are  funny,"  said  Larry.  "You  rave 
and  go  wild  over  Kathleen,  and  yet  you  keep  quite  cool 
over  that  most  wonderful  view." 

"View!"  said  Jane  contemptuously.  "No,  wait, 
Larry,  let  me  explain.  I  do  think  it  all  very  wonderful, 
but  I  love  people.  People  after  all  are  better  than 
mountains,  and  they  are  more  wonderful  too." 

"Are  they?"  said  Larry  dubiously.  "Not  so  lovely, 
sometimes." 

"Some  people,"  insisted  Jane,  "are  more  wonderful 
than  all  the  Rocky  Mountains  together.  Look  at  Kath- 
leen," she  cried  triumphantly.  "You  could  not  love 
that  old  mountain  there,  could  you?  But,  Kathleen " 

"Don't  know  about  that,"  said  Larry.  "Dear  old 
thing." 

"Tell  me  how  Mr.  Romayne  was  hurt,"  said  Jane, 
changing  the  subject. 

In  graphic  language  Nora  gave  her  the  story  of  the 
accident  with  all  the  picturesque  details,  recounting 
Kathleen's  part  in  it  with  appropriate  emotional  thrills. 
Jane  listened  with  eyes  growing  wider  with  each  horri- 
fying elaboration. 

"Do  you  think  his  arm  will  ever  be  all  right?"  she  in- 
quired anxiously. 

"We  do  not  know  yet,"  said  Nora  sombrely. 

"Nonsense,"  interrupted  Larry  sharply.  "His  arm 
will  be  perfectly  all  right.  You  people  make  me  tired 
with  your  passion  for  horrors  and  possible  horrors." 

Nora  was  about  to  make  a  hot  reply  when  Jane  in- 
quired quietly,  "What  does  the  doctor  say?  He  ought 
to  know." 

"That's  just  it,"  said  Nora.  "He  said  yesterday  he 
did  not  like  the  look  of  it  at  all.  You  know  he  did, 
Larry.  Mrs.  Waring- Gaunt  told  me  so.  They  are 


THE  COMING  OF  JANE         225 

quite  anxious  about  it.  But  we  will  hear  what  Dr. 
Brown  says  and  then  we  will  know." 

But  Dr.  Brown's  report  did  not  quite  settle  the  matter, 
for  after  the  approved  manner  of  the  profession  he  de- 
clined to  commit  himself  to  any  definite  statement  ex- 
cept that  it  was  a  nasty  wound,  that  it  might  easily 
have  been  worse,  and  he  promised  to  look  in  with  Dr. 
Hudson  to-morrow.  Meantime  he  expressed  the  pro- 
found hope  that  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  might  get  them  as 
speedily  as  was  consistent  with  safety  to  their  destina- 
tion, and  that  supper  might  not  be  too  long  delayed. 

"We  can  trust  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  for  the  first,"  said 
Larry  with  confidence,  "and  mother  for  the  second." 
In  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  was  Larry  mistaken,  for 
Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  in  a  very  few  minutes  discharged 
both  passengers  and  freight  at  the  Gwynnes'  door,  and 
supper  was  waiting. 

"We  greatly  appreciate  your  kindness,  Mrs.  Waring- 
Gaunt,"  said  Dr.  Brown,  bowing  courteously  over  her 
hand.  "I  shall  look  in  upon  your  brother  to-morrow 
morning.  I  hardly  think  there  is  any  great  cause  for 
anxiety." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Dr.  Brown,  I  am  glad  to  hear  you 
say  that.  It  would  be  very  good  of  you  to  look  in 
to-morrow." 

"Good-night,"  said  Jane,  her  rare  smile  illuminating 
her  dark  face.  "It  was  so  good  of  you  to  come  for  us. 
It  has  been  a  delightful  ride.  I  hope  your  brother  will 
be  better  to-morrow." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt.  "I 
should  be  glad  to  have  you  come  over  to  us.  I  am  sure 
my  brother  would  be  glad  to  know  you." 

"Do  you  think  so,"  said  Jane  doubtfully.  "You  know 
I  am  not  very  clever.  I  am  not  like  Kathleen  or  Nora." 
The  deep  blue  eyes  looked  wistfully  at  her  out  of  the 
plain  little  face. 

"I  am  perfectly  certain  he  would  love  to  know  you, 


226  THE  MAJOR 

Jane — if  I  may  call  you  so,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt, 
impulsively  kissing  her. 

"Oh,  you  are  so  kind,"  said  Jane.  "I  will  come  then 
to-morrow." 

The  welcome  to  the  Gwynne  home  was  without  fuss 
or  effusiveness  but  had  the  heart  quality  that  needs  no 
noisy  demonstration. 

"We  are  glad  to  have  you  with  us  at  Lakeside  Farm," 
said  Mr.  Gwynne  heartily,  as  he  ushered  Dr.  Brown  and 
Jane  into  the  big  living  room,  where  his  wife  stood  wait- 
ing. 

"You  are  welcome  to  us,  Dr.  Brown,"  said  the  little 
lady.  And  something  in  the  voice  and  manner  made 
Dr.  Brown  know  that  the  years  that  had  passed  since  his 
first  meeting  with  her  had  only  deepened  the  feeling  of 
gratitude  and  affection  in  her  heart  toward  him.  "We 
have  not  forgotten  nor  shall  we  ever  forget  your  kind- 
ness to  us  when  we  were  strangers  passing  through 
Winnipeg,  nor  your  goodness  to  Larry  and  Kathleen 
while  in  Winnipeg.  They  have  often  told  us  of  your 
great  kindness." 

"And  you  may  be  quite  sure,  Mrs.  Gwynne,"  said  Dr. 
Brown  heartily,  "that  Larry  brought  his  welcome  with 
him,  and  as  for  Kathleen,  we  regard  her  as  one  of  our 
family." 

"And  this  is  Jane,"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne.  "Dear  child, 
you  have  grown.  But  you  have  not  changed.  Come 
away  to  your  room." 

Once  behind  the  closed  door  she  put  her  arms  around 
the  girl  and  kissed  her.  Then,  holding  her  at  arm's 
length,  scrutinised  her  face  with  searching  eyes.  "No," 
she  said  again  with  a  little  sigh  of  relief,  "you  have  not 
changed.  You  are  the  same  dear,  wise  girl  I  learned  to 
love  in  Winnipeg." 

"Oh,  I  am  glad  you  think  I  am  not  changed,  Mrs. 
Gwynne,"  said  Jane,  with  a  glow  of  light  in  her  dark 
blue  eyes.  "I  do  not  like  people  to  change  and  I  would 
hate  to  have  you  think  me  changed.  I  know,"  she 


227 

added  shyly,  "I  feel  just  the  same  toward  you  and  the 
others  here.  But  oh,  how  lovely  they  are,  both  Kath- 
leen and  Nora." 

"They  are  good  girls,"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne  quietly, 
"and  they  have  proved  good  girls  to  me." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  said  Jane,  with  impulsive  fervour, 
"and  through  those  winters  and  all.  Oh,  they  were  so 
splendid." 

"Yes,"  said  the  mother,  "they  never  failed,  and  Larry 
too." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  cried  Jane  with  increasing  ardour,  her 
eyes  shining,  "with  his  teaching, — going  there  through 
the  awful  cold, — lighting  the  school  fires, — and  the  way 
he  stuck  to  his  college  work.  Nora's  letters  told  me  all 
about  it.  How  splendid  that  was !  And  you  know,  Mrs. 
Gwynne,  in  the  'Varsity  he  did  so  well.  I  mean  besides 
his  standing  in  the  class  lists,  in  the  Societies  and  in  all 
the  college  life.  He  was  really  awfully  popular,"  added 
Jane  with  something  of  a  sigh. 

"You  must  tell  me,  dear,  sometime  all  about  it.  But 
now  you  must  be  weary  and  hungry.  Come  away  out  if 
you  are  ready,  and  I  hope  you  will  feel  as  if  you  were 
just  one  of  ourselves." 

"Do  you  know,  that  is  just  the  way  I  feel,  Mrs. 
Gwynne,"  said  Jane,  putting  the  final  touch  to  her 
toilet.  "I  seem  to  know  the  house,  and  everything  and 
everybody  about  it.  Nora  is  such  a  splendid  corre- 
spondent, you  see." 

"Well,  dear  child,  we  hope  the  days  you  spend  here 
will  always  be  a  very  bright  spot  in  your  life,"  said  Mrs. 
Gwynne  as  they  entered  the  living  room. 

The  next  few  days  saw  the  beginning  of  the  realisa- 
tion of  that  hope,  for  of  all  the  bright  spots  in  Jane's  life 
none  shone  with  a  brighter  and  more  certain  lustre  than 
the  days  of  her  visit  to  Lakeside  Farm. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

HOSPITALITY  WITHOUT  GRUDGING 

BY  arrangement  made  the  previous  evening  Jane  was 
awake  before  the  family  was  astir  and  in  Nora's 
hands  preparing  for  a  morning  ride  with  Larry,  who 
was  to  give  her  her  first  lesson  in  equitation. 

"Your  habit  will  be  too  big  for  me,  Nora,  I  am 
afraid,"  she  said. 

"Habit!"  cried  Nora.  "My  pants,  you  mean.  You 
can  pull  them  up,  you  know.  There  they  are." 

"Pants!"  gasped  Jane.  "Pants!  Nora,  pants!  Do  you 
mean  to  say  you  wear  these  things  where  all  the  men 
will  see  you?"  Even  in  the  seclusion  of  her  bedroom 
Jane's  face  at  the  thought  went  a  fiery  red.  Nora 
laughed  at  her  scornfully.  "Oh,  but  I  can't  possibly  go 
out  in  these  before  Larry.  I  won't  ride  at  all.  Haven't 
you  a  skirt,  a  regular  riding  habit?" 

But  Nora  derided  her  scruples.  "Why,  Jane,  we  all 
wear  them  here." 

"Does  Kathleen?" 

"Of  course  she  does,  and  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  and 
everybody." 

"Oh,  she  might,  uut  i  am  sure  your  mother  would 
not." 

Nora  shouted  joyfully.  "Well,  that  is  true,  she  never 
has,  but  then  she  has  never  ridden  out  here.  Put  them 
on,  hurry  up,  your  legs  are  straight  enough,  your  knees 
don't  knock." 

"Oh,  Nora,  they  are  just  terrible,"  said  Jane,  almost 
in  tears.  "I  know  I  will  just  squat  down  if  Larry  looks 
at  me." 

228 


HOSPITALITY  229 

"Why  should  he  look  at  you  ?  Don't  you  ever  let  on 
but  that  you  have  worn  them  often,  and  he  will  never 
think  of  looking  at  you." 

In  face  of  many  protests  Jane  was  at  length  arrayed 
in  her  riding  apparel. 

"Why,  you  look  perfectly  stunning,"  said  Nora. 
"You  have  got  just  the  shape  for  them.  Pull  them  up  a 
little.  There,  that  is  better.  Now  step  out  and  let  me 
see  you." 

Jane  walked  across  the  room  and  Nora  rocked  in 
laughter.  "Oh,  Nora,  I  will  just  take  them  off.  You 
are  as  mean  as  you  can  be.  I  will  pull  them  off." 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  Nora,  still  laughing,  "only  stretch 
your  legs  a  bit  when  you  walk.  -Don't  mince  along. 
Stride  like  a  man.  These  men  have  had  all  the  fun  in 
the  matter  of  clothes.  I  tell  you  it  was  one  of  the 
proudest  moments  of  my  life  when  I  saw  my  own  legs 
walking.  Now  step  out  and  swing  your  arms.  There, 
you  are  fine,  a  fine  little  chap,  Jane,  round  as  a  barrel, 
and  neat  as  a  ballet  dancer,  although  I  never  saw  one 
except  in  magazines." 

Trim  and  neat  Jane  looked,  the  riding  suit  showing 
off  the  beautiful  lines  of  her  round,  shapely  figure. 
Shrinking,  blushing,  and  horribly  conscious  of  her  pants, 
Jane  followed  Nora  from  her  bedroom.  A  swift  glance 
she  threw  around  the  room.  To  her  joy  it  was  empty 
but  for  Mrs.  Gwynne,  who  was  ready  with  a  big  glass  of 
rich  milk  and  a  slice  of  home-made  bread  and  delicious 
butter. 

"Good  morning,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne,  kissing 
her.  "You  will  need  something  before  you  ride.  You 
will  have  breakfast  after  your  return." 

Jane  went  close  to  her  and  stood  beside  her,  still  blush- 
ing. "Oh,  thank  you,"  she  cried,  "I  am  really  hungry 
already.  I  hope  I  won't  get  killed.  I  never  was  on  a 
horse  before,  you  know." 

"Oh,  never   fear,  Lawrence  is  very  careful.     If  it 


230  THE  MAJOR 

were  Nora  now  I  would  not  be  so  sure  about  you,  but 
Lawrence  is  quite  safe." 

At  this  point  Larry  came  in.  "Well,  Jane,  all  readv? 
Good  for  you.  I  like  a  girl  that  is  always  on  time." 

"How  do  you  like  her  pants,  Larry?"  said  Nora, 
wickedly. 

"Perfectly  splendiferous,"  cried  Larry. 

"Oh,  you  mean  thing,  Nora,"  cried  Jane,  dropping 
hurriedly  into  a  chair  with  scarlet  face  and  indignant 
eyes. 

"Come  along,  Jane,  old  chap,  don't  mind  her.  Those 
pants  never  looked  so  well  before,  I  assure  you.  We 
are  going  to  have  a  great  time.  I  guarantee  that  in  a 
few  minutes  you' will  be  entirely  oblivious  of  such  trivial 
things  as  mere  pants." 

They  all  passed  out  into  the  front  yard  to  see  Jane 
mount  and  take  her  first  lesson. 

"This  is  Polly,"  said  Larry.  "She  has  taught  us  all 
to  ride,  and  though  she  has  lost  her  shape  a  bit,  she 
has  still  'pep'  enough  to  decline  to  take  a  dare." 

"What  do  I  do?"  said  Jane,  gazing  fearfully  at  the 
fat  and  shapeless  Polly. 

"There  is  just  one  rule  in  learning  to  ride,"  said  Larry, 
"step  on  and  stick  there.  Polly  will  look  after  the  rest." 

"Step  on — it  is  easy  to  say,  but " 

"This  way,"  said  Nora.  She  seized  hold  of  the  horn 
of  the  saddle,  put  her  foot  into  the  stirrup  and  sprang 
upon  Polly's  back.  "Oh,  there's  where  the  pants  come 
in,"  she  added  as  her  dress  caught  on  to  the  rear  of  the 
saddle.  "Now  up  you  go.  Make  up  your  mind  you  are 
going  to  do  it,  not  going  to  try." 

A  look  of  serious  determination  came  into  Jane's  face, 
a  look  that  her  friends  would  have  recognised  as  the 
precursor  of  a  resolute  and  determined  attempt  to 
achieve  the  thing  in  hand.  She  seized  the  horn  of  the 
saddle,  put  her  foot  into  the  stirrup  and  "stepped  on." 

The  riding  lesson  was  an  unqualified  success,  though 
for  some  reason,  known  only  to  herself,  Polly  signalised 


HOSPITALITY  231 

the  event  by  promptly  running  away  immediately  her 
head  was  turned  homeward,  and  coming  back  down  the 
lane  at  a  thundering  gallop. 

"Hello!"  cried  Nora,  running  out  to  meet  them. 
"Why,  Jane,  you  have  been  fooling  us  all  along.  You 
needn't  tell  me  this  is  your  first  ride." 

"My  very  first,"  said  Jane,  "but  I  hope  not  my  last." 

"But,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne,  who  had  also  come 
out  to  see  the  return,  "you  are  doing  famously." 

"Am  I?"  cried  Jane,  her  face  aglow  and  her  eyes 
shining.  "I  think  it  is  splendid.  Shall  we  ride  again 
to-day,  Larry?" 

"Right  away  after  breakfast  and  all  day  long  if  you 
like.  You  are  a  born  horsewoman,  Jane." 

"Weren't  you  afraid  when  Polly  ran  off  with  you  like 
that?"  inquired  Nora. 

"Afraid  ?  I  didn't  know  there  was  any  danger.  Was 
there  any?"  inquired  Jane. 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  Nora,  "so  long  as  you  kept  your 
head." 

"But  there  really  was  no  danger,  was  there,  Larry?" 
insisted  Jane. 

"None  at  all,  Jane,"  said  Nora,  "I  assure  you.  Larry 
got  rattled  when  he  saw  you  tear  off  in  that  wild  fash- 
ion, but  I  knew  you  would  be  all  right.  Come  in ;  break- 
fast is  ready." 

"And  so  am  I,"  said  Jane.  "I  haven't  been  so  hungry 
I  don't  know  when." 

"Why,  she's  not  plain-looking  after  all,"  said  Nora  to 
her  mother  as  Jane  strode  manlike  off  to  her  room. 

"Plain-looking?"  exclaimed  her  mother.  "I  never 
thought  her  plain-looking.  She  has  that  beauty  that 
shines  from  within,  a  beauty  that  never  fades,  but  grows 
with  every  passing  year." 

A  council  of  war  was  called  by  Nora  immediately  after 
breakfast,  at  which  plans  were  discussed  for  the  best  em- 
ployment of  the  three  precious  days  during  which  the 
visitors  were  to  be  at  the  ranch.  There  were  so  many 


232  THE  MAJOR 

things  to  be  done  that  unless  some  system  were  adopted 
valuable  time  would  be  wasted. 

"It  appears  to  me,  Miss  Nora,"  said  Dr.  Brown  after  a 
somewhat  prolonged  discussion,  "that  to  accomplish  all 
the  things  that  you  have  suggested,  and  they  all  seem  not 
only  delightful  but  necessary,  we  shall  require  at  least  a 
month  of  diligent  application." 

"At  the  very  least,"  cried  Nora. 

"So  what  are  we  going  to  do?"  said  the  doctor. 

It  was  finally  decided  that  the  Browns  should  extend 
their  stay  at  Lakeside  House  for  a  week,  after  which 
the  doctor  should  proceed  to  the  coast  and  be  met  on  his 
return  at  Banff  by  Jane,  with  Nora  as  her  guest. 

"Then  that's  all  settled,"  said  Larry.  "Now  what's 
for  to-day  ?" 

As  if  in  answer  to  that  question  a  honk  of  a  motor 
car  was  heard  outside.  Nora  rushed  to  the  door,  saying, 
"That's  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt."  But  she  returned  hastily 
with  heightened  colour. 

"Larry,"  she  said,  "it's  that  Mr.  Wakeham." 

"Wakeham,"  cried  Larry.  "What's  got  him  up  so 
early,  I  wonder?"  with  a  swift  look  at  Jane. 

"I  wonder,"  said  Nora,  giving  Jane  a  little  dig. 

"I  thought  I  would  just  run  up  and  see  if  you  had 
all  got  home  safely  last  night,"  they  heard  his  great  voice 
booming  outside  to  Larry. 

"My,  but  he  is  anxious,"  said  Nora. 

"But  who  is  he,  Nora?"  inquired  her  mother. 

"A  friend  of  Jane's,  and  apparently  terribly  concerned 
about  her  welfare." 

"Stop,  Nora,"  said  Jane,  flushing  a  fiery  red.  "Don't 
be  silly.  He  is  a  young  man  whom  we  met  on  the  train, 
Mrs.  Gwynne,  a  friend  of  some  of  our  Winnipeg 
friends." 

"We  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  him  stay  with  us,  my 
dear,"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne.  "Go  and  bring  him  in." 

"Go  on,  Jane,"  said  Nora. 


HOSPITALITY  233 

"Now,  Nora,  stop  it,"  said  Jane.  "I  will  get  really 
cross  with  you.  Hush,  there  he  is." 

The  young  man  seemed  to  fill  up  the  door  with  his 
bulk.  "Mr.  Wakeham,"  said  Larry,  as  the  young  fel- 
low stood  looking  around  on  the  group  with  a  frank,  ex- 
pansive smile  upon  his  handsome  face.  Az  his  eye 
fell  upon  a  little  lady  the  young  man  seemed  to  come  to 
attention.  Insensibly  he  appeared  to  assume  an  attitude 
of  greater  respect  as  he  bowed  low  over  her  hand. 

"I  hope  you  will  pardon  my  coming  here  so  early  in 
the  morning,"  he  said  with  an  embarrassed  air.  "I  have 
the  honour  of  knowing  your  guests." 

"Any  friend  of  our  guests  is  very  welcome  here,  Mr. 
Wakeham,"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne,  smiling  at  him  with  gen- 
tle dignity. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Wakeham,"  said  Jane,  coming 
forward  with  outstretched  hand.  "You  are  very  early 
in  your  calls.  You  could  not  have  slept  very  much." 

"No,  indeed,"  replied  Mr.  Wakeham,  "and  that  is  one 
reason  why  I  waked  so  early.  My  bed  was  not  so 
terribly  attractive." 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Nora  in  a  disappointed  tone,  as  she 
shook  hands  with  him,  "we  thought  you  were  anxious 
to  see  us." 

"Quite  right,"  said  the  young  man,  holding  her  hand 
and  looking  boldly  into  her  eyes.  "I  have  come  to  see 
you." 

Before  his  look  Nora's  saucy  eyes  fell  and  for  some 
unaccountable  reason  her  usually  ready  speech  forsook 
her.  Mr.  Wakeham  fell  into  easy  conversation  with  Mr. 
Gwynne  and  Dr.  Brown  concerning  mining  matters,  in 
which  he  was  especially  interested.  He  had  spent  an 
hour  about  the  Manor  Mine  and  there  he  had  heard  a 
good  deal  about  Mr.  Gwynne's  mine  and  was  anxious  to 
see  that  if  there  were  no  objections.  He  wondered  if 
he  might  drive  Mr.  Gwynne — and  indeed,  he  had  a  large 
car  and  would  be  glad  to  fill  it  up  with  a  party  if  any 


234  THE  MAJOR 

one  cared  to  come.  He  looked  at  Mrs.  Gwynne  as  he 
spoke. 

"Yes,  Mother,  you  go.  It  is  such  a  lovely  day,"  said 
Nora  enthusiastically,  "and  Jane  can  go  with  you." 

"Jane  is  going  riding,"  said  Larry  firmly. 

"I  am  going  to  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt's,"  said  Jane.  "I 
arranged  with  her  last  night." 

While  they  were  settling  Mrs.  Gwynne's  protests,  and 
covered  by  the  noise  of  conversation,  Mr.  Wakeham 
managed  to  get  close  to  Nora.  "I  want  you  to  come," 
he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "That's  what  I  came  for." 

Startled  and  confused  by  this  extraordinary  announce- 
ment, Nora  could  think  of  no  answer. 

"I  think  you  were  to  show  me  the  mine,"  he  added. 
Then  while  Nora  gasped  at  him,  he  said  aloud,  "My  car 
is  a  seven  passenger,  so  we  can  take  quite  a  party." 

"Why  not  Kathleen?"  suggested  Jane. 

"Yes,  indeed,  Kathleen  might  like  to  go,"  said  Mrs. 
Gwynne. 

"Then  let's  all  go,"  cried  Nora. 

"Thank  you  awfully,"  murmured  Mr.  Wakeham. 

"We  shall  only  be  two  or  three  hours  at  most,"  con- 
tinued Nora.  "We  shall  be  back  in  time  for  lunch." 

"For  that  matter,"  said  Mr.  Gwynne,  "we  can  lunch 
at  the  mine." 

"Splendid,"  cried  Nora.  "Come  along.  We'll  run  up 
with  you  to  the  Waring-Gaunts'  for  Kathleen,"  she  added 
to  Mr.  Wakeham. 

At  the  Waring-Gaunts'  they  had  some  difficulty  per- 
suading Kathleen  to  join  the  party,  but  under  the  united 
influence  of  Jack  and  his  sister,  she  agreed  to  go. 

"Now  then,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  "you  have  your 
full  party,  Mr.  Wakeham — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gwynne,  Dr. 
Brown,  and  the  three  girls." 

"What  about  me?"  said  Larry  dolefully. 

"I  shall  stay  with  you,"  cried  Nora,  evading  Mr. 
Wakeham's  eyes. 

"No,  Nora,"  said  Jane  in  a  voice  of  quiet  decision. 


235 

"Last  night  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  and  I  arranged  that  I 
should  visit  her  to-day." 

There  was  a  loud  chorus  of  protests,  each  one  mak- 
ing an  alternative  suggestion  during  which  Jane  went  to 
Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt's  side  and  said  quietly,  "I  want  to 
stay  with  you  to-day." 

"All  right,  dear,'"'  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt.  "Stay 
you  shall."  And  then  to  the  company  announced,  "We 
have  it  all  arranged.  Jane  and  I  are  to  have  a  visit  to- 
gether. The  rest  of  you  go  off." 

"And  what  about  me,  Jane?"  again  said  Larry. 

"You  are  going  with  the  others,"  said  Jane  calmly, 
"and  in  the  afternoon  we  are  to  have  our  ride." 

"And  this  is  Jane,"  said  Jack  Romayne  as  Mrs.  War- 
ing-Gaunt ushered  the  girl  into  his  room.  "If  half  of 
what  I  have  heard  is  true  then  I  am  a  lucky  man  to-day. 
Kathleen  has  been  telling  me  about  you." 

Jane's  smile  expressed  her  delight.  "I  think  I  could 
say  the  same  of  you,  Mr.  Romayne." 

"What  ?    Has  Kathleen  been  talking  about  me  ?" 

"No,  I  have  not  seen  Kathleen  since  I  came,  but  there 
are  others,  you  know." 

"Are  there?"  asked  Jack.  "I  hadn't  noticed.  But  I 
know  all  about  you." 

It  was  a  hasty  introduction  for  Jane.  Kathleen  was 
easily  a  subject  for  a  day's  conversation.  How  long  she 
discoursed  upon  Kathleen  neither  of  them  knew.  But 
when  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  had  finished  up  her  morning 
household  duties  Jane  was  still  busy  dilating  upon  Kath- 
leen's charms  and  graces  and  expatiating  upon  her  tri- 
umphs and  achievements  during  her  stay  in  Winnipeg 
the  previous  winter. 

"Still  upon  Kathleen?"  inquired  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt. 

"Oh,  I  am  learning  a  great  deal  and  enjoying  myself 
immensely,"  said  Jack. 

"You  must  be  careful,  Jane.  Don't  tell  Jack  every- 
thing about  Kathleen.  There  are  certain  things  we  keep 
to  ourselves,  you  know.  I  don't  tell  Tom  everything." 


236  THE  MAJOR 

Jane  opened  her  eyes.  "I  have  not  told  Jane  yet, 
Sybil,"  said  Jack  quietly.  "She  doesn't  know,  though 
perhaps  she  has  guessed  how  dear  to  me  Kathleen  is." 

"Had  you  not  heard?"  inquired  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt. 

"No,  I  only  came  last  night,  you  see."  Then  turning 
to  Jack,  she  added,  "And  is — is  Kathleen  going  to  marry 
you?"  Her  astonishment  was  evident  in  her  voice  and 
eyes. 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Jack,  "and  you  are  no  more  aston- 
ished than  I  am  myself.  I  only  found  it  out  night  before 
last." 

It  was  characteristic  of  Jane  that  she  sat  gazing  at 
him  in  silence;  her  tongue  had  not  learned  the  trick  of 
easy  compliment.  She  was  trying  to  take  in  the  full 
meaning  of  this  surprising  announcement. 

"Well?"  said  Jack  after  he  had  waited  for  some  mo- 
ments. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "I  con- 
gratulate you.  I  think  you  are  a  very  lucky  man." 

"I  am,  indeed,"  said  Jack  with  emphasis.  "And 
Kathleen  ?  You  are  not  so  sure  about  her  luck  ?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  you  yet,"  said  Jane  gravely,  "and 
Kathleen  is  a  very  lovely  girl,  the  very  loveliest  girl  I 
know." 

"You  are  quite  right,"  said  Jack  in  a  tone  as  grave  as 
her  own.  "I  am  not  good  enough  for  her." 

"Oh,  I  did  not  say  that.  Only  I  don't  know  you,  and 
you  see  I  know  Kathleen.  She  is  so  lovely  and  so  good. 
I  love  her."  Jane's  face  was  earnest  and  grave. 

"And  so  do  I,  Jane,  if  I  may  call  you  so,"  said  Jack, 
"and  I  am  going  to  try  to  be  worthy  of  her." 

Jane's  eyes  rested  quietly  on  his  face.  She  made  up 
her  mind  that  it  was  an  honest  face  and  a  face  one  could 
trust,  but  to  Jane  it  seemed  as  if  something  portentous 
had  befallen  her  friend  and  she  could  not  bring  herself 
immediately  to  accept  this  new  situation  with  an  out- 
burst of  joyous  acclaim  such  as  ordinarily  greets  an  an- 
nouncement of  this  kind.  For  a  reason  she  could  not 


HOSPITALITY  237 

explain  her  mind  turned  to  the  memory  she  cherished  of 
her  own  mother  and  of  the  place  she  had  held  with  her 
father.  She  wondered  if  this  man  could  give  to  Kath- 
leen a  place  so  high  and  so  secure  in  his  heart.  While 
her  eyes  were  on  his  face  Jack  could  see  that  her  mind 
was  far  away.  She  was  not  thinking  of  him. 

"What  is  it,  Jane?"  he  said  gently. 

Jane  started  and  the  blood  rushed  to  her  face.  She 
hesitated,  then  said  quietly  but  with  charming  frank- 
ness, "I  was  thinking  of  my  mother.  She  died  when  I 
was  two  years  old.  Father  says  I  am  like  her.  But  I 
am  not  at  all.  She  was  very  lovely.  Kathleen  makes 
me  think  of  her,  and  father  often  tells  me  about  her. 
He  has  never  forgotten  her.  You  see  I  think  he  loved 

her  in  quite  a  wonderful  way,  and  he "  Jane  paused 

abruptly. 

Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  rose  quietly,  came  to  her  side. 
"Dear  Jane,  dear  child,"  she  said,  kissing  her.  "That's 
the  only  way  to  love.  I  am  sure  your  mother  was  a 
lovely  woman,  and  a  very  happy  woman,  and  you  are 
like  her." 

But  Jack  kept  his  face  turned  away  from  them. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,"  cried  Jane,  shaking  her 
head  emphatically,  "I  am  not  the  least  bit  like  her.  That 
is  one  of  the  points  on  which  I  disagree  with  father.  We 
do  not  agree  upon  everything,  you  know." 

"No?    What  are  some  of  the  other  points?" 

"We  agree  splendidly  about  Kathleen,"  said  Jane, 
laughing.  "Just  now  we  differ  about  Germany." 

"Aha,  how  is  that?"  inquired  Jack,  immediately  alert. 

"Of  course,  I  know  very  little  about  it,  you  under- 
stand, but  last  winter  our  minister,  Mr.  McPherson,  who 
had  just  been  on  a  visit  to  Germany  the  summer  before, 
gave  a  lecture  in  which  he  said  that  Germany  had  made 
enormous  preparations  for  war  and  was  only  waiting  a 
favourable  moment  to  strike.  Papa  says  that  is  all 
nonsense." 

"Oh,  Jane,  Jane,"   cried   Mrs.   Waring-Gaunt,   "you 


238  THE  MAJOR 

have  struck  upon  a  very  sore  spot  in  this  house.  Jack 
will  indorse  all  your  minister  said.  He  will  doubtless 
go  much  further." 

"What  did  he  say,  Jane?"  inquired  Jack. 

"He  was  greatly  in  earnest  and  he  urged  preparation 
by  Canada.  He  thinks  we  ought  at  the  very  least  to  be- 
gin getting  our  fleet  ready  right  away." 

"That's  politics,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt, 
"and  I  do  not  know  what  you  are." 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  do  either,"  she  replied,  "but  I 
believe  too  that  Canada  ought  to  get  at  her  fleet  without 
loss  of  time." 

"But  what  did  he  say  about  Germany?"  continued 
Jack. 

"I  can't  tell  you  everything,  of  course,  but  he  assured 
us  that  Germany  had  made  the  greatest  possible  prepara- 
tion, that  the  cities,  towns  and  villages  were  full  of  drill- 
ing men;  that  there  were  great  stores  of  war  material, 
guns  and  shells,  everywhere  throughout  Germany;  that 
they  were  preparing  fleets  of  Zeppelins  and  submarines 
too;  that  they  were  ready  to  march  at  twenty-four  hours' 
notice;  that  the  whole  railroad  system  of  Germany  was 
organised,  was  really  built  for  war;  that  within  the  last 
few  years  the  whole  nation  had  come  to  believe  that 
Germany  must  go  to  war  in  order  to  fulfil  her  great 
destiny.  Father  says  that  this  is  all  foolish  talk,  and 
that  all  this  war  excitement  is  prompted  chiefly  by  pro- 
fessional soldiers,  like  Lord  Roberts  and  others,  and  by 
armament  makers  like  the  Armstrongs  and  the  Krupps." 

"What  do  you  think  about  it  all,  Jane?"  inquired  Jack, 
looking  at  her  curiously. 

"Well,  he  had  spent  some  months  in  Germany  and 
had  taken  pains  to  inquire  of  all  kinds  of  people,  officers 
and  professors  and  preachers  and  working  people  and 
politicians,  and  so  I  think  he  ought  to  know  better  than 
others  who  just  read  books  and  the  newspapers,  don't 
you  think  so?" 

"I  think  you  are  entirely  right,  and  I  hope  that  minis- 


HOSPITALITY  239 

ter  of  yours  will  deliver  that  lecture  in  many  places 
throughout  this  country,  for  there  are  not  many  people, 
even  in  England,  who  believe  in  the  reality  of  the  Ger- 
man menace.  But  this  is  my  hobby,  my  sister  says,  ami 
I  don't  want  to  bore  you." 

"But  I  am  really  interested,  Mr.  Romayne.  Papa 
laughs  at  me,  and  Larry  too.  He  does  not  believe  in  the 
possibility  of  war.  But  I  think  that  if  there  is  a  chance, 
even  the  slightest  chance,  of  it  being  true,  it  is  so  terrible 
that  we  all  ought  to  be  making  preparation  to  defend 
ourselves." 

"Well,  if  it  won't  bore  you,"  said  Jack,  "I  shall  tell 
you  a  few  things." 

"Then  excuse  me,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt.  "I  have 
some  matters  to  attend  to.  I  have  no  doubt  that  you 
at  least,  Jack,  will  have  a  perfectly  lovely  time." 

"I  am  sure  I  shall  too,"  cried  Jane  enthusiastically. 
"I  just  want  to  hear  abqut  this." 

"Will  you  please  pass  me  that  green  book  ?"  said  Jack, 
after  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt  had  left  the  room.  "No,  the 
next  one.  Yes.  The  first  thing  that  it  is  almost  im- 
possible for  us  Britishers  to  get  into  our  minds  is  this, 
that  Germany,  not  simply  the  Kaiser  and  the  governing 
classes,  but  the  whole  body  of  the  German  people,  take 
themselves  and  their  empire  and  their  destiny  with  most 
amazing  seriousness.  Listen  to  this,  for  instance.  This 
will  give  you,  I  say,  the  psychological  condition  out  of 
which  war  may  easily  and  naturally  arise."  He  turned 
the  leaves  of  the  book  and  read : 

"  'To  live  and  expand  at  the  expense  of  other  less 
meritorious  peoples  finds  its  justification  in  the  convic- 
tion that  we  are  of  all  people  the  most  noble  and  the  most 
pure,  destined  before  others  to  work  for  the  highest  de- 
velopment of  humanity.' 

"One  of  their  poets — I  haven't  got  him  here — speaks 

of  the  'German  life  curing  all  the  evils  of  humanity  by 

mere  contact  with  it.'     You  see  that  row  of  books? 

.  These  are  only  a  few.    Most  of  them  are  German.    They 


240  THE  MAJOR 

are  all  by  different  authors  and  on  different  subjects,  but 
they  are  quite  unanimous  in  setting  forth  the  German 
ideal,  the  governing  principle  of  German  World  politics. 
They  are  filled  with  the  most  unbelievable  glorification 
of  Germany  and  the  German  people,  and  the  most  ex- 
traordinary prophecies  as  to  her  wonderful  destiny  as  a 
World  Power.  Unhappily  the  German  has  no  sense  of 
humour.  A  Britisher  talking  in  this  way  about  his  coun- 
try would  feel  himself  to  be  a  fool.  Not  so  the  German. 
With  a  perfectly  serious  face  he  will  attribute  to  him- 
self and  to  his  nation  all  the  virtues  in  the  calendar.  For 
instance,  listen  to  this: 

"  'Domination  belongs  to  Germany  because  it  is  a  su- 
perior nation,  a  noble  race,  and  it  is  fitting  that  it  should 
control  its  neighbours  just  as  it  is  the  right  and  duty  of 
every  individual  endowed  with  superior  intellect  and 
force  to  control  inferior  individuals  about  him.' 

"Here's  another  choice  bit: 

"  'We  are  the  superior  race  in  the  fields  of  science 
and  of  art.  We  are  the  best  colonists,  the  best  sailors, 
the  best  merchants.' 

"That's  one  thing.  Then  here's  another.  For  many 
years  after  his  accession  I  believe  the  Kaiser  was  gen- 
uinely anxious  to  preserve  the  peace  of  Europe  and  tried 
his  best  to  do  so,  though  I  am  bound  to  say  that  at  times 
he  adopted  rather  peculiar  methods,  a  mingling  of  bully- 
ing and  intrigue.  But  now  since  1904 — just  hand  me 
that  thin  book,  please.  Thank  you — the  Kaiser  has 
changed  his  tone.  For  instance,  listen  to  this : 

"  'God  has  called  us  to  civilise  the  world.  We  are  the 
missionaries  of  human  progress.' 

"And  again  this : 

"  'The  German  people  will  be  the  block  of  granite  on 
which  our  Lord  will  be  able  to  elevate  and  achieve  the 
civilisation  of  the  world.' 

"But  I  need  not  weary  you  with  quotations.  The 
political  literature  of  Germany  for  the  last  fifteen  years 
is  saturated  with  this  spirit.  The  British  people  dismiss 


HOSPITALITY  241 

this  with  a  good-natured  smile  of  contempt.  To  them  it 
is  simply  an  indication  of  German  bad  breeding.  If  you 
care  I  shall  have  a  number  of  these  books  sent  you.  They 
are  somewhat  difficult  to  get.  Indeed,  some  of  them  can- 
not be  had  in  English  at  all.  But  you  read  German,  do 
you  not?  Kathleen  told  me  about  your  German  prize." 

"I  do,  a  little.  But  I  confess  I  prefer  the  English," 
said  Jane  with  a  little  laugh. 

"The  chief  trouble,  however,  is  that  so  few  English- 
speaking  people  care  to  read  them.  But  I  assure  you 
that  the  one  all-absorbing  topic  of  the  German  people  is 
this  one  of  Germany's  manifest  destiny  to  rule  and  ele- 
vate the  world.  And  remember  these  two  things  go  to- 
gether. They  have  no  idea  of  dominating  the  world  in- 
tellectually or  even  commercially — but  perhaps  you  are 
sick  of  this." 

"Not  at  all.    I  am  very  greatly  interested,"  said  Jane. 

"Then  I  shall  just  read  you  one  thing  more.  The 
German  has  no  idea  that  he  can  benefit  a  nation  until  ht 
conquers  it.  Listen  to  this : 

"  'The  dominion  of  German  thought  can  only  be  ex- 
tended under  the  aegis  of  political  power,  and  unless  w€ 
act  in  conformity  to  this  idea  we  shall  be  untrue  to  out 
great  duties  toward  the  human  race.' ' 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  to  get  those  books,"  said  Jane, 
"and  I  wish  you  would  mark  some  of  these  passages. 
And  I  promise  you  I  shall  do  all  I  can  to  make  all  my 
friends  read  them.  I  shall  begin  with  Papa  and  Larry. 
They  are  always  making  fun  of  me  and  my  German 
scare." 

"I  can  quite  understand  that,"  replied  Jack.  "That 
is  a  very  common  attitude  with  a  great  majority  of  the 
people  of  England  to-day.  But  you  see  I  have  been  close 
to  these  things  for  years,  and  I  have  personal  knowledge 
of  many  of  the  plans  and  purposes  in  the  minds  of  the 
German  Kaiser  and  the  political  and  military  leaders  of 
Germany,  and  unhappily  I  know  too  the  spirit  that  domi- 
nates the  whole  body  of  the  German  people." 


242  THE  MAJOR 

"You  lived  in  Germany  for  some  years?" 

"Yes,  for  a  number  of  years." 

"And  did  you  like  the  life  there?" 

"In  many  ways  I  did.  I  met  some  charming  Germans, 
and  then  there  is  always  their  superb  music." 

And  for  an  hour  Jack  Romayne  gave  his  listener  a 
series  of  vivid  pictures  of  his  life  in  Germany  and  ir 
other  lands  for  the  past  ten  years,  mingling  with  personal 
reminiscences  incidents  connected  with  international 
politics  and  personages.  He  talked  well,  not  only  because 
his  subject  was  a  part  of  himself,  but  also  because  Jane 
possessed  that  rare  ability  to  listen  with  intelligence  and 
sympathy.  Never  had  she  met  with  a  man  who  had  been 
in  such  intimate  touch  with  the  world's  Great  Affairs 
and  who  was  possessed  at  the  same  time  of  such  brilliant 
powers  of  description. 

Before  either  of  them  was  aware  the  party  from  the 
mine  had  returned. 

"We  have  had  a  perfectly  glorious  time,"  cried  Nora 
as  she  entered  the  room  with  her  cheeks  and  eyes  glow- 
ing. 

"So  have  we,  Miss  Nora,"  said  Jack.  "In  fact,  I  had 
not  the  slightest  idea  of  the  flight  of  time." 

"You  may  say  so,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt. 
"These  two  have  been  so  utterly  absorbed  in  each  other 
that  my  presence  in  the  room  or  absence  from  it  was  a 
matter  of  perfect  indifference.  And  how  Jane  managed 
it  I  don't  know,  but  she  got  Jack  to  do  for  her  what  he 
has  never  done  for  me.  He  has  actually  been  giving 
her  the  story  of  his  life." 

Jane  stood  by  listening  with  a  smile  of  frank  delight 
on  her  face. 

"How  did  you  do  it,  Jane?"  asked  Kathleen  shyly. 
"He  has  never  told  me." 

"Oh,  I  just  listened,"  said  Jane. 

"That's  a  nasty  jar  for  you  others,"  said  Nora.       , 

"But  he  told  me  something  else,  Kathleen,"  said  Jane 
with  a  bright  blush,  "and  I  am  awfully  glad."  As  she 


HOSPITALITY  243 

spoKe  sne  went  around  to  Kathleen  and,  kissing  her,  said,, 
"It  is  perfectly  lovely  for  you  both." 

"Oh,  you  really  mean  that,  do  you?"  said  Jack.  "You 
know  she  was  exceedingly  dubious  of  me  this  morning." 

"Well,  I  am  not  now,"  said  Jane.  "I  know  you  better, 
you  see." 

"Thank  God,"  said  Jack  fervently.  "The  day  has  not 
been  lost.  You  will  be  sure  to  come  again  to  see  me," 
he  added  as  Jane  said  good-bye. 

"Yes,  indeed,  you  may  be  quite  sure  of  that,"  replied 
Jane,  smiling  brightly  back  at  him  as  she  left  the  room 
with  Nora. 

"What  a  pity  she  is  so  plain,"  said  Mrs.  Waring- 
Gaunt  when  she  had  returned  from  seeing  Jane  on  her 
way  with  Nora  and  Mr.  Wakeham. 

"My  dear  Sybil,  you  waste  your  pity/'  said  her 
brother.  "That  young  lady  is  so  attractive  that  one 
forgets  whether  she  is  plain  or  not.  I  can't  quite  explain 
her  fascination  for  me.  There's  perfect  sincerity  to  be- 
gin with.  She  is  never  posing.  And  perfect  simplicity. 
And  besides  that  she  is  so  intellectually  keen,  she  keeps 
one  alive." 

"I  just  love  her,"  said  Kathleen.  "She  has  such  a  good 
heart." 

"You  have  said  it,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  "and 
that  is  why  Jane  will  never  lose  her  charm." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  TRAGEDIES  OF   LOVE 

WHEN  the  week  had  fled  Dr.  Brown  could  hardly 
persuade  himself  and  his  hosts  at  Lakeside  Farm 
that  the  time  had  come  for  his  departure  to  the  coast. 
Not  since  he  had  settled  down  to  the  practice  of  his  pro- 
fession at  Winnipeg  more  than  twenty  years  ago  had 
such  a  holiday  been  his.  Alberta,  its  climate,  its  'ife  of 
large  spaces  and  far  visions,  its  hospitable  people,  had  got 
hold  of  him  by  so  strong  a  grip  that  in  parting  he  vowed 
that  he  would  not  await  an  opportunity  but  make  one 
to  repeat  his  visit  to  the  ranch.  And  so  he  departed 
with  the  understanding  that  Jane  should  follow  him  to 
Banff  ten  days  later  with  her  friend  Nora.  . 

The  ten  days  were  to  Jane  as  a  radiant,  swiftly  mov- 
ing dream.  Yet  with  so  much  to  gratify  her,  one  wish 
had  remained  ungratified.  Though  from  early  morning 
until  late  night  she  had  ridden  the  ranges  now  with 
one  and  now  with  another,  but  for  the  most  part  with 
Larry,  Jane  had  never  "done  the  mine." 

"And  I  just  know  I  shall  go  away  without  seeing  that 
mine,  and  Winnipeg  people  will  be  sure  to  ask  me  about 
it,  and  what  shall  I  say?  And  I  have  never  seen  that 
wonderful  secretary,  Mr.  Switzer,  either." 

"To-morrow,"  said  Larry  solemnly,  "no  matter  what( 
happens  we  shall  have  you  see  that  mine  and  the  won- 
derful Mr.  Switzer." 

It  was  the  seeing  of  Mr.  Switzer  that  brought  to 
Jane  the  only  touch  of  tragedy  to  the  perfect  joy  of  her 
visit  to  Alberta.  Upon  arrival  at  the  mine  she  was  given 
over  by  Larry  to  Mr.  Switzer's  courteous  and  intelli- 

244 


THE  TRAGEDIES  OF  LOVE 

gent  guidance,  and  with  an  enthusiasm  that  never  wear- 
ied, her  guide  left  nothing  of  the  mine  outside  or  in,  to 
which  with  painstaking  minuteness  he  failed  to  call  her 
attention.  It  was  with  no  small  degree  of  pride  that 
Mr.  Switzer  explained  all  that  had  been  accomplished 
during  the  brief  ten  weeks  during  which  the  mine  had 
been  under  his  care.  For  although  it  was  quite  true 
that  Mr.  Steinberg  was  the  manager,  Switzer  left  no 
doubt  in  Jane's  mind,  as  there  was  none  in  his  own,  that 
the  mine  owed  its  present  state  of  development  to  his 
driving  energy  and  to  his  organising  ability.  Jane  read- 
ily forgave  him  his  evident  pride  in  himself  as  he  ex- 
claimed, sweeping  his  hand  toward  the  little  village  that 
lay  along  the  coolee, 

"Ten  weeks  ago,  Miss  Brown,  there  was  nothing  here 
but  a  little  black  hole  in  the  hillside  over  there,  'i  o-uay 
look  at  it.  We  have  a  company  organised,  a  village  built 
and  equipped  with  modern  improvements,  water,  light, 
drainage,  etc.  We  are  actually  digging  and  shipping 
coal.  It  is  all  very  small  as  yet,  but  it  is  something  to 
feel  that  a  beginning  has  been  made." 

"I  think  it  is  really  quite  a  remarkable  achievement, 
Mr.  Switzer.  And  I  feel  sure  that  I  do  not  begin  to 
know  all  that  this  means.  They  all  say  that  you  have 
accomplished  great  things  in  the  short  time  you  have 
been  at  work." 

"We  are  only  beginning,"  said  Switzer  again,  "but 
I  believe  we  shall  have  a  great  mine.  It  will  be  a  good 
thing — for  the  Gwynnes,  I  mean — and  that  is  worth 
while.  Of  course,  my  own  money  is  invested  here  too 
and  I  am  working  for  myself,  but  I  assure  you  that  I 
chiefly  think  of  them.  It  is  a  joy,  Miss  Brown,  to  work 
for  those  you  love." 

"It  is,"  replied  Jane,  slightly  puzzled  at  this  altruistic 
point  of  view.  "The  Gwynnes  are  dear  people  and  I  am 
glad  for  their  sakes.  I  love  them." 

"Yes,"  continued  Switzer,  "this  will  be  a  great  mine. 
They  will  be  wealthy  some  day." 


24fi  THE  MAJOR 

"That  will  be  splendid,"  said  Jane.  "You  see  I  have 
only  got  to  know  them  well  during  this  visit.  Nine 
years  ago  I  met  them  in  Winnipeg  when  I  was  a  little 
girl  Of  course,  Kathleen  was  with  us  a  great  deal  last 
winter  I  got  to  know  her  well  then.  She  is  so  lovely, 
and  she  is  lovelier  now  than  ever.  She  is  so  happy,  you 
know." 

Switzer  looked  puzzled.  "Happy?  Because  you  are 
her~  ^ 

"No,  no.  Because  of  her  engagement.  Haven't  you 
heard?  I  thought  everybody  knew." 

Switzer  stood  still  in  his  tracks.  "Her  engagement  ?" 
he  said  in  a  hushed  voice.  "Her  engagement  to — to 
that" — he  could  not  apparently  get  the  word  out  with- 
out a  great  effort — "that  Englishman?" 

Looking  at  his  white  face  and  listening  to  his  tense 
voice,  Jane  felt  as  if  she  were  standing  at  the  edge  of  a 
mine  that  mignc  explode  at  any  moment. 

"Yes.  to  Mr.  Romayne,"  she  said,  and  waited,  almost 
holding  ner  Dreatrx. 

"It  is  not  true"  he  shouted.  "It's  a  lie.  Ha,  Ha." 
Switzer's  laugn  was  full  of  incredulous  scorn.  "En- 
gaged *  And  how  do  you  know?"  He  swung  fiercely 
upon  her,  his  eyes  glaring  out  of  a  face  ghastly  white. 

"I  am  sorry  I  said  anything,  Mr.  Switzer.  It  was  not 
my  business  to  speak  of  it,"  said  Jane  quietly.  "But  I 
thought  you  knew." 

Gradually  the  thing  seemed  to  reach  his  mind.  "Your 
business  °"  he  said.  "What  difference  whose  business  it 
is?  It  is  not  true  I  say  it  is  not  true.  How  do  you 
know?  Tell  me  Tell  me.  Tell  me."  He  seized  her  by 
the  arm,  and  at  each  "TeL  me"  shook  her  violently. 

"You  are  hurting  me,  Mr.  Switzer,"  said  Jane. 

He  dropped  her  arm.  "Then,  my  God,  will  you  not 
tell  me?  How  do  you  know?" 

"Mr.  Switzer,  believe  me  it  is  true,"  said  Jane,  trying 
to  speak  quietly,  though  she  was  shaking  with  excitement 


THE  TRAGEDIES  OF  LOVE     247, 

and  terror.  "Mr.  Romayne  told  me,  they  all  told  me, 
Kathleen  told  me.  It  is  quite  true,  Mr.  Switzer." 

He  stared  at  her  as  if  trying  to  take  in  the  meaning  of 
her  words,  then  glared  around  him  like  a  hunted  animal 
seeking  escape  from  a  ring  of  foes,  then  back  at  her 
again.  There  were  workmen  passing  close  to  them  on 
the  path,  but  he  saw  nothing  of  them.  Jane  was  looking 
at  his  ghastly  fa.ce.  She  was  stricken  with  pity  for  him. 

"Shall  we  walk  on  this  way?"  she  said,  touching  his 
arm. 

He  shook  off  her  touch  but  followed  her  away  from 
the  busy  track  of  the  workers,  along  a  quieter  path 
among  the  trees.  Sheltered  from  observation,  she  slowed 
her  steps  and  turned  towards  him.  / 

"She  loves  him  ?"  he  said  in  a  low  husky  voice.  "You 
say  she  loves  him?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Switzer,  she  loves  him,"  said  Jane.  "She 
cannot  help  herself.  No  one  can  help  one's  self.  You 
must  not  blame  her  for  that,  Mr.  Switzer." 

"She  does  not  love  me,"  said  Switzer  as  if  stunned  by 
the  utterly  inexplicable  phenomenon.  "But  she  did 
once,"  he  cried.  "She  did  before  that  schwein  came." 
No  words  could  describe  the  hate  and  contempt  in  his 
voice.  He  appeared  to  concentrate  his  passions  strug- 
gling for  expression,  love,  rage,  hate,  wounded  pride, 
into  one  single  stream  of  fury.  Grinding  his  teeth,  foam- 
ing, sputtering,  he  poured  forth  his  words  in  an  impetu- 
ous torrent 

"He  stole  her  from  me!  this  schwein  of  an  English- 
man! He  came  like  a  thief,  like  a  dog  and  a  dog's  son 
and  stole  her!  She  was  mine!  She  would  have  been 
mine !  She  loved  me !  She  was  learning  to  love  me.  I 
was  too  quick  with  her  once,  but  she  had  forgiven  me 
and  was  learning  to  love  me.  But  this  pig !"  He  gnashed 
his  teeth  upon  the  word. 

"Stop,  Mr.  Switzer,"  said  Jane,  controlling  her  agita- 
tion and  her  terror.  "You  must  not  speak  to  me  like 
that.  You  are  forgetting  yourself." 


248  THE  MAJOR 

"Forgetting  myself !"  he  raged,  his  face  livid  blue  and 
white.  "Forgetting  myself !  Yes,  yes !  I  forget  every- 
thing but  one  thing.  That  I  shall  not  forget.  I  shall  not 
forget  him  nor  how  he  stole  her  from  me.  Gott  in 
Himmel!  Him  I  shall  never  forget.  No,  when  these 
hairs  are  white,"  he  struck  his  head  with  his  clenched 
fist,  "I  shall  still  remember  and  curse  him."  Abruptly 
he  stayed  the  rush  of  his  words.  Then  more  deliberately 
but  with  an  added  intensity  of  passion  he  continued, 
"But  no,  never  shall  he  have  her.  Never.  God  hears 
me.  Never.  Him  I  will  kill,  destroy."  He  had  wrought 
himself  up  into  a  paroxysm  of  uncontrollable  fury,  his 
breath  came  in  jerking  gasps,  his  features  worked  with 
convulsive  twitchings,  his  jaws  champed  and  snapped 
upon  his  words  like  a  dog's  worrying  rats. 

To  Jane  it  seemed  a  horrible  and  repulsive  sight,  yet 
she  could  not  stay  her  pity  from  him.  She  remembered 
it  was  love  that  had  moved  him  to  this  pitch  of  madness. 
Love  after  all  was  a  terrible  thing.  She  could  not  despise 
him.  She  could  only  pity.  Her  very  silence  at  length 
recalled  him.  For  some  moments  he  stood  struggling  to 
regain  his  composure.  Gradually  he  became  aware  that 
her  eyes  were  resting  on  his  face.  The  pity  in  her  eyes 
touched  him,  subdued  him,  quenched  the  heat  of  his 
rage. 

"I  have  lost  her,"  he  said,  his  lips  quivering.  "She 
will  never  change." 

"No,  she  will  never  change,"  replied  Jane  gently. 
"But  you  can  always  love  her.  And  she  will  be  happy." 

"She  will  be  happy?"  he  exclaimed,  looking  at  her  in 
astonishment.  "But  she  will  not  be  mine." 

"No,  she  will  not  be  yours,"  said  Jane  still  very  gently, 
"but  she  will  be  happy,  and  after  all,  that  is  what  you 
most  want.  You  are  anxious  chiefly  that  she  shall  be 
happy.  You  would  give  everything  to  make  her  happy." 

"I  would  give  my  life.  Oh,  gladly,  gladly,  I  would 
give  my  life,  I  would  give  my  soul,  I  would  give  every- 
thing I  have  on  earth  and  heaven  too." 


THE  TRAGEDIES  OF  LOVE    249 

"Then  don't  grieve  too  much,"  said  Jane,  putting  her 
hand  on  his  arm.  "She  will  be  happy." 

"But  what  of  me?"  he  cried  pitifully,  his  voice  and 
lips  trembling  like  those  of  a  little  child  in  distress. 
"Shall  I  be  happy?" 

"No,  not  now,"  replied  Jane  steadily,  striving  to  keep 
back  her  tears,  "perhaps  some  day.  But  you  will  think 
more  of  her  happiness  than  of  your  own.  Love,  you 
know,  seeks  to  make  happy  rather  than  to  be  happy." 

For  some  moments  the  man  stood  as  if  trying  to  un- 
derstand what  she  had  said.  Then  with  a  new  access  of 
grief  and  rage,  he  cried,  "But  my  God!  My  God!  I 
want  her.  I  cannot  live  without  her.  I  could  make  her 
happy  too." 

"No,  never,"  said  Jane.    "She  loves  him."' 

"Ach — so.  Yes,  she  loves  him,  and  I — hate  him.  He 
is  the  cause  of  this.  Some  day  I  will  kill  him.  I  will 
kill  him." 

"Then  she  would  never  be  happy  again,"  said  Jane, 
and  her  face  was  full  of  pain  and  of  pity. 

"Go  away,"  he  said  harshly.  "Go  away.  You  know 
not  what  you  say.  Some  day  I  shall  make  him  suffer  as 
I  suffer  to-day.  God  hears  me.  Some  day."  He  lifted 
his  hands  high  above  his  head.  Then  with  a  despairing 
cry,  "Oh,  I  have  lost  her,  I  have  lost  her,"  he  turned  from 
Jane  and  rushed  into  the  woods. 

Shaken,  trembling  and  penetrated  with  pity  for  him, 
Jane  made  her  way  toward  the  office,  near  which  she 
found  Larry  with  the  manager  discussing  an  engineering 
problem  which  appeared  to  interest  them  both. 

"Where's  Ernest?"  inquired  Larry. 

"He  has  just  gone,"  said  Jane,  struggling  to  speak 
quietly.  "I  think  we  must  hurry,  Larry.  Come,  please. 
Good-bye,  Mr.  Steinberg."  She  hurried  away  toward 
the  horses,  leaving  Larry  to  follow. 

"What  is  it,  Jane?"  said  Larry  when  they  were  on 
their  way. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me,  Larry,  thnt  he  was  fond  of 


250  THE  MAJOR 

Kathleen?"  she  cried  indignantly.  "I  hurt  him  terribly, 
and,  oh,  it  was  awful  to  see  a  man  like  that." 

"What  do  you  say?  Did  he  cut  up  rough?"  said 
Larry. 

Jane  made  no  reply,  but  her  face  told  its  own  story  of 
shock  and  suffering. 

"He  need  not  have  let  out  upon  you,  Jane,  anyway," 
said  Larry. 

"Don't,  Larry.  You  don't  understand.  He  loves 
Kathleen.  You  don't  know  anything  about  it.  How 
can  you?" 

"Oh,  he  will  get  over  it  in  time,"  said  Larry  with  a 
slight  laugh. 

Jane  flashed  on  him  a  look  of  indignation.  "Oh,  how 
can  you,  Larry?  It  was  just  terrible  to  see  him.  But 
you  do  not  know,"  she  added  with  a  touch  of  bitterness 
unusual  with  her. 

"One  thing  I  do  know,"  said  Larry.  "I  would  not 
pour  out  my  grief  on  some  one  else.  I  would  try  to  keep 
it  to  myself."  , 

But  Jane  refused  to  look  at  him  or  to  speak  again  on 
the  matter.  Never  in  her  sheltered  life  had  there  been 
anything  suggesting  tragedy.  Never  had  she  seen  a 
strong  man  stricken  to  the  heart  as  she  knew  this  man  to 
be  stricken.  The  shadow  of  that  tragedy  stayed  with  her 
during  all  the  remaining  days  of  her  visit.  The  sight  of 
Kathleen's  happy  face  never  failed  to  recall  the  face  of 
the  man  who  loved  her  distorted  with  agony  and  that 
cry  of  despair,  "I  have  lost  her,  I  have  lost  her." 

Not  that  her  last  days  at  the  ranch  were  not  happy 
days.  She  was  far  too  healthy  and  wholesome,  far  too 
sane  to  allow  herself  to  miss  the  gladness  of  those  last 
few  days  with  her  friends  where  every  moment  offered 
its  full  measure  of  joy.  Nora  would  have  planned  a 
grand  picnic  for  the  last  day  on  which  the  two  house- 
holds, including  Jack  Romayne,  who  by  this  time  was 
quite  able  to  go  about,  were  to  pay  a  long-talked-of  visit 
to  a  famous  canyon  in  the  mountains.  The  party  would 


THE  TRAGEDIES  OF  LOVE     251 

proceed  to  the  canyon  in  the  two  cars,  for  Mr.  Wake- 
ham's  car  and  Mr.  Wakeham's  person  as  driver  had 
been  constantly  at  the  service  of  the  Gwynnes  and  their 
guests  during  their  stay  at  the  farm. 

"But  that  is  our  very  last  day,  Nora,"  said  Jane. 

"Well,  that's  just  why,"  replied  Nora.  "We  shall 
wind  up  our  festivities  in  one  grand,  glorious  finale." 

But  the  wise  mother  interposed.  "It  is  a  long  ride, 
Nora,  and  you  don't  want  to  be  too  tired  for  your  jour- 
ney. I  think  the  very  last  day  we  had  better  spend 
quietly  at  home." 

Jane's  eyes  flashed  upon  her  a  grateful  look.  And  so 
it  came  that  the  grand  finale  was  set  back  to  the  day  be- 
fore the  last,  and  proved  to  be  a  gloriously  enjoyable  if 
exhausting  outing.  The  last  day  was  spent  by  Nora  in 
making  preparations  for  her  visit  with  Jane  to  Banff 
and  in  putting  the  final  touches  to  such  household  tasks 
as  might  help  to  lessen  somewhat  the  burden  for  those 
who  would  be  left  behind.  Jane' spent  the  morning  in  a 
farewell  visit  to  the  Waring-Gaunts',  which  she  made  in 
company  with  Kathleen. 

"I  hope,  my  dear  Jane,  you  have  enjoyed  your  stay 
with  us  here  at  Wolf  Willow,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt 
as  Jane  was  saying  good-bye. 

"I  have  been  very  happy,"  said  Jane.  "Never  in  my 
life  have  I  had  such  a  happy  time." 

"Now  it  is  good  of  you  to  say  that,"  said  Mrs.  War- 
ing-Gaunt. "You  have  made  us  all  love  you." 

"Quite  true,"  said  her  husband.  "Repetition  of  the 
great  Caesar's  experience  veni  vidi  vlci,  eh?  What?" 

"So  say  I,"  said  Jack  Romayne.  "It  has  been  a  very 
real  pleasure  to  know  you,  Jane.  For  my  part,  I  shan't 
forget  your  visit  to  me,  and  the  talks  we  have  had  to- 
gether." 

"You  have  all  been  good  to  me.  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
I  feel  about  it."  Jane's  voice  was  a  little  tremulous,  but 
her  smile  was  as  bright  as  ever.  "I  don't  believe  I  shall 
ever  have  such  a  perfectly  happy  visit  again  " 


252  THE  MAJOR 

"What  nonsense,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt. 
"I  predict  many,  many  very  happy  days  for  you.  You 
have  that  beautiful  gift  of  bringing  your  joy  with  you." 

Jack  accompanied  them  on  their  way  to  the  road. 
"Kathleen  and  I  are  hoping  that  perhaps  you  may  be 
able  to  come  to  our  wedding.  It  will  be  very  soon — in  a 
few  weeks." 

"Yes,  could  you,  Jane,  dear?"  said  Kathleen.  "We 
should  like  it  above  everything  else.  I  know  it  is  a  long, 
long  journey,  but  if  you  could." 

"When  is  it  to  be?"  said  Jane. 

"Somewhere  about  the  middle  of  October."  But  Jane 
shook  her  head  disconsolately.  By  that  time  she  knew 
she  would  be  deep  in  her  university  work,  and  with 
Jane  work  ever  came  before  play. 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  she  said.  "But,  oh,  I  do  wish  you 
all  the  happiness  in  the  world.  Nothing  has  ever  made 
me  so  glad.  Oh,  but  you  will  be  happy,  I  know.  Both 
of  you  are  so  lovely."  A  sudden  rush  of  tears  filled  the 
deep  dark  eyes  as  she  shook  hands  with  Jack  in  farewell. 
"But,"  she  cried  in  sudden  rapture,  "why  not  come  to 
us  for  a  day  on  your  wedding  trip  ?" 

"That's  a  splendid  idea."  For  a  moment  or  two  Jack 
and  Kathleen  stood  looking  at  each  other. 

"Jane,  we  shall  surely  come.  You  may  count  on  us," 
said  Jack. 

In  the  afternoon  Mrs.  Gwynne  sent  Jane  away  for  a 
ride  with  Larry. 

"Just  go  quietly,  Larry,"  said  his  mother.  "Don't 
race  and  don't  tire  Jane." 

"I  will  take  care  of  her,"  said  Larry,  "but  I  won't 
promise  that  we  won't  race.  Jane  would  not  stand  for 
that,  you  know.  Besides  she  is  riding  Ginger,  and 
Ginger  is  not  exactly  like  old  Polly.  But  never  fear,  we 
shall  have  a  good  ride,  Mother,"  he  added,  waving  his 
hand  gaily  as  they  rode  away,  taking  the  coolee  trail  to 
the  timber  lot. 

Larry  was  in  high  spirits.    He  talked  of  his  work  for 


THE  TRAGEDIES  OF  LOVE    253 

the  winter.  He  was  hoping  great  things  from  this  his 
last  year  in  college.  For  the  first  time  in  his  university 
career  he  would  be  able  to  give  the  full  term  to  study. 
He  would  be  a  couple  of  weeks  late  on  account  of  Kath- 
leen's marriage,  but  he  would  soon  make  that  up.  He 
had  his  work  well  in  hand  and  this  year  he  meant  to  do 
something  worth  while.  "I  should  like  to  take  that 
medal  home  to  Mother,"  he  said  with  a  laugh.  "I  just 
fancy  I  see  her  face.  She  would  try  awfully  hard  not 
to  seem  proud,  but  she  would  just  be  running  over  with 
it."  Jane  gave,  as  ever,  a  sympathetic  hearing  but  she 
had  little  to  say,  even  less  than  was  usual  with  her.  Her 
smile,  however,  was  as  quick  and  as  bright  as  ever,  and 
Larry  chattered  on  beside  her  apparently  unaware  of 
her  silence.  Up  the  coolee  and  through  the  woods  and 
back  by  the  dump  their  trail  led  them.  On  the  way 
home  they  passed  the  Switzer  house. 

"Have  you  seen  Mr.  Switzer?"  said  Jane. 

"No,  by  Jove,  he  hasn't  been  near  us  for  a  week,  has 
he  ?"  replied  Larry. 

"Poor  man,  I  feel  so  sorry  for  him,"  said  Jane. 

"Oh,  he  will  be  all  right.  He  is  busy  with  his  work. 
He  is  awfully  keen  about  that  mine  of  his,  and  once  the 
thing  is  over — after  Kathleen  is  married,  I  mean — it  will 
be  different." 

Jane  rode  on  in  silence  for  some  distance.  Then  she 
said, 

"I  wonder  how  much  you  know  about  it,  Larry.  I 
don't  think  you  know  the  very  least  bit." 

"Well,  perhaps  not,"  said  Larry  cheerfully,  "but  they 
always  get  over  it." 

"Oh,  do  they?"  said  Jane.    "I  wonder.!' 

And  again  she  rode  on  listening  in  silence  to  Larry's 
chatter. 

"You  will  have  a  delightful  visit  at  Banff,  Jane.  Do 
you  know  Wakeham  is  going  to  motor  up?  He  is  to 
meet  his  father  there.  He  asked  me  to  go  with  him," 
and  as  he  spoke  Larry  glanced  at  her  face. 


254  THE  MAJOR 

"That  would  be  splendid  for  you,  Larry,"  she  said, 
"but  you  couldn't  leave  them  at  home  with  all  the  work 
going  on,  could  you?" 

"No,"  said  Larry  gloomily,  "I  do  not  suppose  I  could. 
But  I  think  you  might  have  let  me  say  that." 

"But  it  is  true,  isn't  it,  Larry?"  said  Jane. 

"Yes,  it's  true,  and  there's  no  use  talking  about  it, 
and  so  I  told  him.  But,"  he  said,  cheering  up  again,  "I 
have  been  having  a  holiday  these  two  weeks  since  you 
have  been  here." 

"I  know,"  said  Jane  remorsefully,  "we  must  have  cut 
into  your  work  dreadfully." 

"Yes,  I  have  loafed  a  bit,  but  it  was  worth  while. 
What  a  jolly  time  we  have  had!  At  least,  I  hope  you 
have  had,  Jane." 

"You  don't  need  to  ask  me,  do  you,  Larry?" 

"I  don't  know.  You  are  so  dreadfully  secretive  as  to 
your  feelings,  one  never  knows  about  you." 

"Now,  you  are  talking  nonsense,"  replied  Jane  hotly. 
"You  know  quite  well  that  I  have  enjoyed  every  minute 
of  my  visit  here." 

They  rode  in  silence  for  some  time,  then  Larry  said, 
"Jane,  you  are  the  best  chum  a  fellow  ever  had.  You 
never  expect  a  chap  to  pay  you  special  attention  or  make 
love  to  you.  There  is  none  of  that  sort  of  nonsense 
about  you,  is  there  ?" 

"No,  Larry,"  said  Jane  simply,  but  she  kept  her  face 
turned  away  from  him. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

THE  VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

THE  results  of  the  University  examinations  filled 
three  sheets  of  the  Winnipeg  morning  papers. 
With  eager  eyes  and  anxious  hearts  hundreds  of  the 
youth  of  Manitoba  and  the  other  western  provinces 
scanned  these  lists.  It  was  a  veritable  Day  of  Judgment, 
a  day  of  glad  surprises  for  the  faithful  in  duty  and  the 
humble  in  heart,  a  day  of  Nemesis  for  the  vainly  self- 
confident  slackers  who  had  grounded  their  hopes  upon 
eleventh  hour  cramming  and  lucky  shots  in  exam,  papers. 
There  were  triumphs  which  won  universal  approval,  oth- 
ers which  received  grudging  praise. 

Of  the  former,  none  of  those,  in  the  Junior  year  at 
least,  gave  more  general  satisfaction  than  did  Jane 
Brown's  in  the  winning  of  the  German  prize  over  Hein- 
rich  Kellerman,  and  for  a  number  of  reasons.  In  the 
first  place  Jane  beat  the  German  in  his  own  language, 
at  his  own  game,  so  to  speak.  Then,  too,  Jane,  while  a 
hard  student,  took  her  full  share  in  college  activities,  and 
carried  through  these  such  a  spirit  of  generosity  and 
fidelity  as  made  her  liked  and  admired  by  the  whole  body 
of  the  students.  Kellerman,  on  the  other  hand,  was  of 
that  species  of  student  known  as  a  pot-hunter,  who  took 
no  interest  in  college  life,  but  devoted  himself  solely  to 
the  business  of  getting  for  himself  everything  that  the 
college  had  to  offer. 

Perhaps  Jane  alone,  of  his  fellow  students,  gave  a 
single  thought  to  the  disappointment  of  the  little  Jew. 
She  alone  knew  how  keenly  he  had  striven  for  the  prize, 
and  how  surely  he  had  counted  upon  winning  it.  She 
had  the  feeling,  too,  that  somehow  the  class  lists  did  not 

255 


256  THE  MAJOR 

represent  the  relative  scholarship  of  the  Jew  and  her- 
self. He  knew  more  German  than  she.  It  was  this 
feeling  that  prompted  her  to  write  him  a  note  which 
brought  an  answer  in  formal  and  stilted  English. 

"Dear  Miss  Brown,"  the  answer  ran,  "I  thank  you  for 
your  beautiful  note,  which  is  so  much  like  yourself  that 
in  reading  it  I  could  see  your  smile,  which  so  constantly 
characterises  you  to  all  your  friends.  I  confess  to  dis- 
appointment, but  the  disappointment  is  largely  mitigated 
by  the  knowledge  that  the  prize  which  I  failed  to  ac- 
quire went  to  one  who  is  so  worthy  of  it,  and  for  whom 
I  cherish  the  emotions  of  profound  esteem  and  good  will. 
Your  devoted  and  disappointed  rival,  Heinrich  Keller- 
man." 

"Rather  sporting  of  him,  isn't  it?"  said  Jane  to  her 
friend  Ethel  Murray,  who  had  come  to  dinner. 

"Sporting?"  said  Ethel.  "It  is  the  last  thing  I  would 
have  said  about  Kellerman." 

"That  is  the  worst  of  prizes,"  said  Jane,  "some  one  has 
to  lose." 

"Just  the  way  I  feel  about  Mr.  MacLean,"  said  Ethel. 
"He  ought  to  have  had  the  medal  and  not  I.  He  knows 
more  philosophy  in  a  minute  than  I  in  a  week." 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  say  that,"  said  Jane  judicially.  "And 
though  I  am  awfully  glad  you  got  it,  Ethel,  I  am  sorry 
for  Mr.  MacLean.  You  know  he  is  working  his  way 
through  college,  and  has  to  keep  up  a  mission  through 
the  term.  He  is  a  good  man." 

"Yes,  he  is  good,  a  little  too  good,"  said  Ethel,  mak- 
ing a  little  face.  "Isn't  it  splendid  about  Larry  Gwynne 
getting  the  Proficiency,  and  the  first  in  Engineering? 
Now  he  is  what  I  call  a  sport.  Of  course  he  doesn't  go 
in  for  games  much,  but  he's  into  everything,  the  Lit., 
the  Dramatic  Society,  and  Scuddy  says  he  helped  him 
tremendously  with  the  Senior  class  in  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
work." 

"Yes,"  said  Jane,  "and  the  Register  told  Papa  that 
the  University  had  never  graduated  such  a  brilliant  stu- 


VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS    257 

dent.  And  Ramsay  Dunn  told  me  that  he  just  ran  the 
Athletic  Association  and  was  really  responsible  for  the 
winning  of  the  track  team." 

"What  a  pity  about  Ramsay  Dunn,"  said  Ethel.  "He 
just  managed  to  scrape  through.  Do  you  know,  the  boys 
say  he  kept  himself  up  mostly  on  whiskey-and-sodas 
through  the  exams.  He  must  be  awfully  clever,  and  he 
is  so  good-looking." 

"Poor  Ramsay,"  said  Jane,  "he  has  not  had  a  very 
good  chance.  I  mean,  he  has  too  much  money.  He  is 
coming  to  dinner  to-night,  Ethel,  and  Frank  Smart,  too." 

"Oh,  Frank  Smart!  They  say  he  is  doing  awfully 
well.  Father  says  he  is  one  of  the  coming  men  in  his 
profession.  He  is  a  great  friend  of  yours,  isn't  he,. 
Jane?"  said  Ethel,  with  a  meaning  smile. 

"We  have  known  him  a  long  time,"  said  Jane,  ignor- 
ing the  smile.  "We  think  a  great  deal  of  him." 

"When  have  you  seen  Larry?"  enquired  Ethel.  "He 
comes  here  a  lot,  doesn't  he?" 

"Yes.  He  says  this  is  his  Winnipeg  home.  I  haven't 
seen  him  all  to-day." 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me!"  exclaimed  Ethel. 

"I  mean  I  haven't  seen  him  to  congratulate  him  on 
his  medal.  His  mother  will  be  so  glad." 

"You  know  his  people,  don't  you?  Tell  me  about 
them.  You  see,  I  may  as  well  confess  to  you  that  I 
have  a  fearful  crush  on  Larry." 

"I  know,"  said  Jane  sympathetically. 

"But,"  continued  Ethel,  "he  is  awfully  difficult.  His 
people  are  ranching,  aren't  they?  And  poor,  I  under- 
stand." 

"Yes,  they  are  ranching,"  said  Jane,  "and  Larry  has 
had  quite  a  hard  time  getting  through.  I  had  a  lovely 
visit  last  fall  with  them." 

"Oh,  tell  me  about  it!"  exclaimed  Ethel.  "I  heard 
a  little,  you  know,  from  Larry." 

For  half  an  hour  Jane  dilated  on  her  western  visit  to 
the  Lakeside  Farm. 


258  THE  MAJOR 

"Oh,  you  lucky  girl!"  cried  Ethel.  "What  a  chance 
you  had!  To  think  of  it!  Three  weeks,  lonely  rides, 
moonlight,  and  not  a  soul  to  butt  in !  Oh,  Jane !  I  only 
wish  I  had  had  such  a  chance!  Did  nothing  happen, 
Jane?  Oh,  come  on  now,  you  are  too  awfully  oyster- 
esque.  Didn't  he  come  across  at  all?" 

Jane's  face  glowed  a  dull  red,  but  she  made  no  pre- 
tence of  failing  to  understand  Ethel's  meaning.  "Oh, 
there  is  no  nonsense  of  that  kind  with  Larry,"  she  said. 
"We  are  just  good  friends." 

"Good  friends !"  exclaimed  Ethel  indignantly.  "That's 
just  where  he  is  so  awfully  maddening.  I  can't  under- 
stand him.  He  has  lots  of  red  blood,  and  he  is  a  sport, 
too.  But  somehow  he  never  knows  a  girl  from  her 
brother.  He  treats  me  just  the  way  he  treats  Bruce 
and  Leslie.  I  often  wonder  what  he  would  do  if  I  kissed 
him.  I've  tried  squeezing  his  hand." 

"Have  you?"  said  Jane,  with  a  delighted  laugh. 
"What  did  he  do?" 

"Why,  he  never  knew  it.  I  could  have  killed  him," 
said  Ethel  in  disgust. 

"He  is  going  away  to  Chicago,"  said  Jane  abruptly, 
"to  your  friends,  the  Wakehams;  Mr.  Wakeham  is  in 
mines,  as  you  know.  Larry  is  to  get  two  thousand  dol- 
lars to  begin  with.  It  is  a  good  position,  and  I  am  glad 
for  him.  Oh,  there  I  see  Mr.  MacLean  and  Frank  Smart 
coming  in." 

When  the  party  had  settled  down  they  discussed  the 
Class  lists  and  prize  winners  till  Dr.  Brown  appeared. 

"Shall  we  have  dinner  soon,  Jane?"  he  said  as  she 
welcomed  him.  "I  wish  to  get  through  with  my  work 
early  so  as  to  take  in  the  big  political  meeting  this  even- 
ing. Mr.  Allen  is  to  speak  and  there  is  sure  to  be  a 
crowd." 

"I  shall  have  it  served  at  once,  Papa.  Larry  is  com- 
ing, but  we  won't  wait  for  him." 

They  were  half  through  dinner  before  Larry  appeared. 
He  came  in  looking  worn,  pale  and  thinner  even  than 


VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS    259 

usual.  But  there  was  a  gleam  in  his  eye  and  an  energy 
in  his  movements  that  indicated  sound  and  vigorous 
health. 

"You  are  not  late,  Larry,"  said  Jane;  "we  are  early. ' 
Papa  is  going  to  the  political  meeting." 

"Good!"  cried  Larry.  "So  am  I.  You  are  going, 
Frank,  and  you,  MacLean?" 

"I  don't  know  yet,"  said  MacLean. 

"We  are  all  due  at  Mrs.  Allen's,  Larry,  you  remember. 
It  is  a  party  for  the  Graduating  Class,  too,"  said  Jane. 

"So  we  are.  But  we  can  take  in  the  political  meeting 
first,  eh,  Mac?" 

But  MacLean  glanced  doubtfully  at  Ethel. 

"I  have  just  had  a  go  with  Holtzman,"  said  Larry, 
"the  German  Socialist,  you  know.  He  was  ramping  and 
raging  like  a  wild  man  down  in  front  of  the  post  office. 
I  know  him  quite  well.  He  is  going  to  heckle  Mr.  Allen 
to-night." 

The  girls  were  keen  to  take  in  the  political  meeting, 
but  Larry  objected. 

"There  will  be  a  rough  time,  likely.  It  will  be  no 
place  for  ladies.  We  will  take  you  to  the  party,  then 
join  you  again  after  the  meeting." 

The  girls  were  indignant  and  appealed  to  Dr.  Brown. 

"I  think/'  said  he,  "perhaps  you  had  better  not  go. 
The  young  gentlemen  can  join  you  later,  you  know,  at 
Aliens'  party." 

"Oh,  we  don't  want  them  then,"  said  Ethel,  "and,  in- 
deed, we  can  go  by  ourselves  to  the  party." 

"Now,  Ethel,  don't  be  naughty,"  said  Larry. 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  to  take  you  to  the  party,  Miss 
Murray,"  said  MacLean.  "I  don't  care  so  much  for  the 
meeting.'^ 

"That  will  be  fine,  Mac !"  exclaimed  Larry  enthusiasti- 
cally. "In  this  way  neither  they  nor  we  will  need  to 
hurry." 

"Disgustingly  selfish  creature,"  said  Ethel,  making  a 
face  at  him  across  the  table. 


260  THE  MAJOR 

Jane  said  nothing,  but  her  face  fell  into  firmer  lines 
and  her  cheeks  took  on  a  little  colour.  The  dinner  was 
cut  short  in  order  to  allow  Dr.  Brown  to  get  through 
with  his  list  of  waiting  patients. 

"We  have  a  few  minutes,  Ethel,"  said  Larry.  "Won't 
you  give  us  a  little  Chopin,  a  nocturne  or  two,  or  a  bit 
L of  Grieg?" 

"Do,  Ethel,"  said  Jane,  "although  you  don't  deserve 
it,  Larry.  Not  a  bit,"  she  added. 

"Why,  what  have  I  done?"  said  Larry. 

"For  one  thing,"  said  Jane,  in  a  low,  hurried  voice, 
moving  close  to  him,  "you  have  not  given  me  a  chance 
to  congratulate  you  on  your  medal.  Where  have  you 
been  all  day?" 

The  reproach  in  her  eyes  and  voice  stirred  Larry  to 
quick  defence.  "I  have  been  awfully  busy,  Jane,"  he 
said,  "getting  ready  to  go  off  to-morrow.  I  got  a  tele- 
gram calling  me  to  Chicago." 

"To  Chicago?  To-morrow?"  said  Jane,  her  eyes  wide 
open  with  surprise.  "And  you  never  came  to  tell  me — 
to  tell  us?  Why,  we  may  never  see  you  again  at  all. 
But  you  don't  care  a  bit,  Larry,"  she  added. 

The  bitterness  in  her  voice  was  so  unusual  with  Jane 
that  Larry  in  his  astonishment  found  himself  without 
reply. 

"Excuse  me,  Ethel,"  she  said,  "I  must  see  Ann  a 
,  minute." 

As  she  hurried  from  the  room  Larry  thought  he 
caught  a  glint  of  tears  in  her  eyes.  He  was  imme- 
diately conscience-stricken  and  acutely  aware  that  he  had 
j  not  treated  Jane  with  the  consideration  that  their  long 
i  and  unique  friendship  demanded.  True,  he  had  been 
busy,  but  he  could  have  found  time  for  a  few  minutes 
with  her.  Jane  was  no  ordinary  friend.  He  had  not 
considered  her  and  this  had  deeply  wounded  her.  And 
to-morrow  he  was  going  away,  and  going  away  not  to 
return.  He  was  surprised  at  the  quick  stab  of  pain  that 
came  with  the  thought  that  his  days  in  Winnipeg  were 


VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS    261 

over.  In  all  likelihood  his  life's  work  would  take  him 
to  Alberta.  This  meant  that  when  he  left  Winnipeg  to- 
morrow there  would  be  an  end  to  all  that  delightful  com- 
radeship with  Jane  which  during  the  years  of  his  long 
and  broken  college  course  had  formed  so  large  a  part 
of  his  life,  and  which  during  the  past  winter  had  been 
closer  and  dearer  than  ever.  Their  lives  would  neces- 
sarily drift  apart.  Other  friends  would  come  in  and  pre- 
occupy her  mind  and  heart.  Jane  had  the  art  of  making 
friends  and  of  "binding  her  friends  to  her  with  hooks  of 
steel."  He  had  been  indulging  the  opinion  that  of  all 
her  friends  he  stood  first  with  her.  Even  if  he  were 
right,  he  could  not  expect  that  this  would  continue.  And 
now  on  their  last  evening  together,  through  his  selfish 
stupidity,  he  had  hurt  her  as  never  in  all  the  years  they 
had  been  friends  tdgether.  But  Jane  was  a  sensible  girl. 
He  would  make  that  right  at  once.  She  was  the  one 
girl  he  knew  that  he  could  treat  with  perfect  frankness. 
Most  girls  were  afraid,  either  that  you  were  about  to 
fall  in  love  with  them,  or  that  you  would  not.  Neither 
one  fear  nor  the  other  disturbed  the  serenity  of  Jane's 
soul. 

As  Jane  re-entered  the  room,  Larry  sprang  to  meet 
her.  "Jane,"  he  said  in  a  low,  eager  tone,  "I  am  going 
to  take  you  to  the  party." 

But  Jane  was  her  own  serene  self  again,  and  made 
answer,  "There  is  no  need,  Larry.  Mr.  MacLean  will 
see  us  safely  there,  and  after  the  meeting  you  will  come. 
We  must  go  now,  Ethel."  There  was  no  bitterness  in 
her  voice.  Instead,  there  was  about  her  an  air  of  gentle 
self-mastery,  remote  alike  from  pain  and  passion,  that 
gave  Larry  the  feeling  that  the  comfort  he  had  thought 
to  bring  was  so  completely  unnecessary  as  to  seem  an 
impertinence.  Jane  walked  across  to  where  Frank  Smart 
was  standing  and  engaged  him  in  an  animated  conversa- 
tion. 

As  Larry  watched  her,  it  gave  him  a  quick  sharp  pang 
to  remember  that  Frank  Smart  was  a  friend  of  older 


262  THE  MAJOR 

standing1  than  he,  that  Smart  was  a  rising  young  lawyer 
with  a  brilliant  future  before  him.  He  was  a  constant 
visitor  at  this  house.  Why  was  it?  Like  a  flash  the 
thing  stood  revealed  to  him.  Without  a  doubt  Smart 
was  in  love  with  Jane.  His  own  heart  went  cold  at  the 
thought.  But  why?  he  impatiently  asked  himself.  He 
was  not  in  love  with  Jane.  Of  that  he  was  quite  cer- 
tain. Why,  then,  this  dog-in-the-manger  feeling?  A 
satisfactory  answer  to  this  was  beyond  him.  One  thing 
only  stood  out  before  his  mind  with  startling  clarity,  if 
Jane  should  give  herself  to  Frank  Smart,  or,  indeed,  to 
any  other,  then  for  him  life  would  be  emptied  of  one 
of  its  greatest  joys.  He  threw  down  the  music  book 
whose  leaves  he  had  been  idly  turning  and,  looking  at 
his  watch,  called  out,  "Do  you  know  it  is  after  eight 
o'clock,  people?" 

"Come,  Ethel,"  said  Jane,  "we  must  go.  And  you 
boys  will  have  to  hurry.  Larry,  don't  wait  for  Papa. 
He  will  likely  have  a  seat  on  the  platform.  Good  night 
for  the  present.  You  can  find  your  way  out,  can't  you? 
And,  Mr.  MacLean,  you  will  find  something  to  do  until 
we  come  down?" 

Smiling  over  her  shoulder,  Jane  took  Ethel  off  with 
her  upstairs. 

"Come,  Smart,  let's  get  a  move  on,"  said  Larry,  ab- 
ruptly seizing  his  hat  and  making  for  the  door.  "We 
will  have  to  fight  to  get  in  now." 

The  theatre  was  packed,  pit  to  gods.  Larry  and  his 
friend  with  considerable  difficulty  made  their  way  to  the 
front  row  of  those  standing,  where  they  found  a  group 
of  University  men,  who  gave  them  enthusiastic  welcome 
to  a  place  in  their  company.  The  Chairman  had  made 
his  opening  remarks,  and  the  first  speaker,  the  Honour- 
able B.  B.  Bomberton,  was  well  on  into  his  oration  by  the 
time  they  arrived.  He  was  at  the  moment  engaged  in 
dilating  upon  the  peril  through  which  the  country  had 
recently  passed,  and  thanking  God  that  Canada  had  loy- 


VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS     263 

ally  stood  by  the  Empire  and  had  refused  to  sell  her 
heritage  for  a  mess  of  pottage. 

"Rot !"  cried  a  voice  from  the  first  gallery,  followed  by 
cheers  and  counter  cheers. 

The  Honourable  gentleman,  however,  was  an  old  cam- 
paigner and  not  easily  thrown  out  of  his  stride.  He 
fiercely  turned  upon  his  interrupter  and  impaled  him  up- 
on the  spear  point  of  his  scornful  sarcasm,  waving  the 
while  with  redoubled  vigour,  "the  grand  old  flag  that 
for  a  thousand  years  had  led  the  embattled  hosts  of  free- 
dom in  their  fight  for  human  rights." 

"Rot!"  cried  the  same  voice  again.  "Can  the  flag 
stuff.  Get  busy  and  say  something."  (Cheers,  counter 
cheers,  yells  of  "Throw  him  out,"  followed  by  disturbance 
in  the  gallery.) 

Once  more  the  speaker  resumed  his  oration.  He  re- 
peated his  statement  that  the  country  had  been  delivered 
from  a  great  peril.  The  strain  upon  the  people's  loyalty 
had  been  severe,  but  the  bonds  that  bound  them  to  the 
Empire  had  held  fast,  and  please  God  would  ever  hold 
fast.  (Enthusiastic  demonstration  from  all  the  audience, 
indicating  intense  loyalty  to  the  Empire.)  They  had 
been  invited  to  enter  into  a  treaty  for  reciprocal  trade 
with  the  Republic  south  of  us.  He  would  yield  to  none 
in  admiration,  even  affection,  for  their  American  neigh- 
bours. He  knew  them  well ;  many  of  his  warmest  friends 
were  citizens  of  that  great  Republic.  But  great  as  was 
his  esteem  for  that  Republic  he  was  not  prepared  to  hand 
over  his  country  to  any  other  people,  even  his  American 
neighbours,  to  be  exploited  and  finally  to  be  led  into  finan- 
cial bondage.  He  proceeded  further  to  elaborate  and 
illustrate  the  financial  calamity  that  would  overtake  the 
Dominion  of  Canada  as  a  result  of  the  establishment  of 
Reciprocity  between  the  Dominion  and  the  Republic.  But 
there  was  more  than  that.  They  all  knew  that  ancient 
political  maxim  "Trade  follows  the  flag."  But  like  most 
proverbs  it  was  only  half  a  truth.  The  other  half  was 
equally  true  that  "The  flag  followed  trade."  There  was 


264,  THE  MAJOR 

an  example  of  that  within  their  own  Empire.  No  na- 
tion in  the  world  had  a  prouder  record  for  loyalty  than 
Scotland.  Yet  in  1706  Scotland  was  induced  to  sur- 
render her  independence  as  a  nation  and  to  enter  into 
union  with  England.  Why?  Chiefly  for  the  sake  of 
trade  advantages. 

"Ye're  a  dom  leear,"  shouted  an  excited  Scot,  rising 
to  his  feet  in  the  back  of  the  hall.  "It  was  no  Scotland 
that  surrendered.  Didna  Scotland's  king  sit  on  Eng- 
land's throne.  Speak  the  truth,  mon."  (Cheers,  up- 
roarious laughter  and  cries,  "Go  to  it,  Scotty;  down  wi' 
the  Sassenach.  Scotland  forever!") 

When  peace  had  once  more  fallen  the  Honourable  B. 
B.  Bomberton  went  on.  He  wished  to  say  that  his  Scot- 
tish friend  had  misunderstood  him.  He  was  not  a  Scot 
himself 

"Ye  needna  tell  us  that,"  said  the  Scot.  (Renewed 
cheers  and  laughter.) 

But  he  would  say  that  the  best  three-quarters  of  him 
was  Scotch  in  that  he  had  a  Scotch  woman  for  a  wife, 
and  nothing  that  he  had  said  or  could  say  could  be  in- 
terpreted as  casting  a  slur  upon  that  great  and  proud  and 
noble  race  than  whom  none  had  taken  a  larger  and  more 
honourable  part  in  the  building  and  the  maintaining  of  the 
Empire.  But  to  resume.  The  country  was  asked  for  the 
sake  of  the  alleged  economic  advantage  to  enter  into  a 
treaty  with  the  neighbouring  state  which  he  was  con- 
vinced would  perhaps  not  at  first  but  certainly  eventually 
j  imperil  the  Imperial  bond.  The  country  rejected  the  pro- 
'posal.  The  farmers  were  offered  the  double  lure  of  high 
prices  for  their  produce  and  a  lower  price  for  machinery. 
,  Never  was  he  so  proud  of  the  farmers  of  his  country  as 
when  they  resisted  the  lure,  they  refused  the  bait,  they 
could  not  be  bought,  they  declined  to  barter  either  their 
independence  or  their  imperial  allegiance  for  gain. 
(Cheers,  groans,  general  uproar.) 

Upon  the  subsidence  of  the  uproar  Frank  Smart  who, 
with  Larry,  had  worked  his  way  forward  among  a  body 


VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS     265 

of  students  standing  in  the  first  row  immediately  be- 
hind the  seats,  raised  his  hand  and  called  our  in  a  clear, 
distinct  and  courteous  voice,  "Mr.  Chairman,  a  question 
if  you  will  permit  me."  The  chairman  granted  permis- 
sion. "Did  I  understand  the  speaker  to  say  that  those 
Canadians  who  approved  of  the  policy  of  Reciprocity 
were  ready  to  barter  their  independence  or  their  imperial 
allegiance  for  gain?  If  so,  in  the  name  of  one  half  of 
the  Canadian  people  I  want  to  brand  the  statement  as  an 
infamous  and  slanderous  falsehood." 

Instantly  a  thousand  people  were  on  their  feet  cheering, 
yelling,  on  the  one  part  shouting,  "Put  him  out,"  and  on 
the  other  demanding,  "Withdraw."  A  half  dozen  fights 
started  up  in  different  parts  of  the  theatre.  In  Smart's 
immediate  vicinity  a  huge,  pugilistic  individual  rushed 
toward  him  and  reached  for  him  with  a  swinging  blow, 
which  would  undoubtedly  have  ended  for  him  the  meet- 
ing then  and  there  had  not  Larry,  who  was  at  his  side, 
caught  the  swinging  arm  with  an  upward  cut  so  that  it 
missed  its  mark.  Before  the  blow  could  be  repeated 
Scudamore,  the  centre  rush  of  the  University  football 
team,  bad  flung  himself  upon  the  pugilist,  seized  him  by 
the  throat  and  thrust  him  back  and  back  through  the 
crowd,  supported  by  a  wedge  of  his  fellow  students,  strik- 
ing, scragging,  fighting  and  all  yelling  the  while  with 
cheerful  vociferousness.  By  the  efforts  of  mutual  friends 
the  two  parties  were  torn  asunder  just  as  a  policeman 
thrust  himself  through  the  crowd  and  demanded  to  know 
the  cause  of  the  uproar. 

"Here,"  he  cried,  seizing  Larry  by  the  shoulder,  "what 
does  this  mean?" 

"Don't  ask  me,"  said  Larry,  smiling  pleasantly  at  him. 
"Ask  that  fighting  man  over  there." 

"You  were  fighting.  I  saw  you,"  insisted  the  police- 
man. 

"Did  you?"  said  Larry.  "I  am  rather  pleased  to  hear 
you  say  it,  but  I  knew  nothing  of  it." 

"Look  here,  Sergeant,"  shouted  Smart  above  the  up- 


26a  THE  MAJOR 

roar.  "Oh,  it's  you,  Mac.  You  know  me.  You've  got 
the  wrong  man.  There's  the  man  that  started  this  thing. 
He  deliberately  attacked  me.  Arrest  him." 

Immediately  there  were  clamorous  counter  charges 
and  demands  for  arrest  of  Smart  and  his  student  crew. 

"Come  now,"  said  Sergeant  Mac,  "keep  quiet,  or  I'll 
be  takin'  ye  all  into  the  coop." 

Order  once  more  being  restored,  the  speaker  resumed 
by  repudiating  Indignantly  the  accusation  of  his  young 
friend.  Far  be  it  from  him  to  impugn  the  loyalty  of 
the  great  Liberal  party,  but  he  was  bound  to  say  that 
while  the  Liberals  might  be  themselves  loyal  both  to  the 
Dominion  and  to  the  Empire,  their  policy  was  disastrous. 
They  were  sound  enough  in  their  hearts  but  their  heads 
were  weak.  After  some  further  remarks  upon  the  fiscal 
issues  between  the  two  great  political  parties  and  after 
a  final  wave  of  the  imperial  flag,  the  speaker  declared 
that  he  now  proposed  to  leave  the  rest  of  the  time  to 
their  distinguished  fellow  citizen,  the  Honourable  J.  J. 
Allen. 

Mr.  Allen  found  himself  facing  an  audience  highly 
inflamed  with  passion  and  alert  for  trouble.  In  a  cour- 
teous and  pleasing  introduction  he  strove  to  allay  their 
excited  feelings  and  to  win  for  himself  a  hearing.  The 
matter  which  he  proposed  to  bring  to  their  attention  was 
one  of  the  very  greatest  importance,  and  one  which 
called  for  calm  and  deliberate  consideration.  He  only 
asked  a  hearing  for  some  facts  which  every  Canadian 
ought  to  know  and  for  some  arguments  based  thereupon 
which  they  might  receive  or  reject  according  as  they  ap- 
pealed to  them  or  not. 

"You  are  all  right,  Jim ;  go  to  it,"  cried  an  enthusiastic 
admirer. 

With  a  smile  Mr.  Allen  thanked  his  friend  for  the  in- 
vitation and  assured  him  that  without  loss  of  time  he 
would  accept  it.  He  begged  to  announce  his  theme: 
"The  Imperative  and  Pressing  Duty  of  Canada  to  Pre- 
pare to  do  Her  Part  in  Defence  of  the  Empire."  He 


VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS    267 

was  prepared  frankly  and  without  hesitation  to  make  the 
assertion  that  war  was  very  near  the  world  and  very  near 
our  Empire  and  for  the  reason  that  the  great  military 
power  of  Europe,  the  greatest  military  power  the  world 
had  ever  seen — Germany — purposed  to  make  war,  was 
ready  for  war,  and  was  waiting  only  a  favourable  oppor- 
tunity to  begin. 

"Oh,  r-r-rats-s,"  exclaimed  a  harsh  voice. 

"That's  Holtzman,"  said  Larry  to  Smart. 

(Cries  of  "Shut  up!— Go  on.") 

"I  beg  the  gentleman  who  has  so  courteously  inter- 
rupted me,"  continued  Mr.  Allen,  "simply  to  wait  for  my 
facts."  ("Hear!  Hear!"  from  many  parts  of  the  build- 
ing.) The  sources  of  his  information  were  three:  firsf, 
his  own  observation  during  a  three  months'  tour  in  Ger- 
many; second,  his  conversations  with  representative  men 
in  Great  Britain,  France  and  Germany;  and  third,  the 
experience  of  a  young  and  brilliant  attache  of  the  British 
Embassy  at  Berlin  now  living  in  Canada,  with  whom 
he  had  been  brought  into  touch  by  a  young  University 
student  at  present  in  this  city.  From  this  latter  source 
he  had  also  obtained  possession  of  literature  accessible 
only  to  a  few.  He  spoke  with  a  full  sense  of  responsi- 
bility and  with  a  full  appreciation  of  the  value  of  words. 

The  contrast  between  the  Honourable  Mr.  Allen  and 
the  speaker  that  preceded  him  was  such  that  the  audience 
was  not  only  willing  but  eager  to  hear  the  facts  and  argu- 
ments which  the  speaker  claimed  to  be  in  a  position  to 
offer.  Under  the  first  head  he  gave  in  detail  the  story  of 
his  visit  to  Germany  and  piled  up  an  amazing  accumula- 
tion of  facts  illustrative  of  Germany's  military  and  naval 
preparations  in  the  way  of  land  and  sea  forces,  muni- 
tions and  munition  factories,  railroad  construction,  food 
supplies  and  financial  arrangements  in  the  way  of  gold 
reserves  and  loans.  The  preparations  for  war  which,  in 
the  world's  history,  had  been  made  by  Great  Powers 
threatening  the  world's  freedom,  were  as  child's  play  to 
these  preparations  now  made  by  Germany,  and  these 


268  THE  MAJOR 

which  he  had  given  were  but  a  few  illustrations  of  Ger- 
many's war  preparations,  for  the  more  important  ot 
these  were  kept  hidden  by  her  from  tht  rest  of  the 
world.  "My  argument  is  that  preparation  by  a  nation 
whose  commercial  and  economic  instincts  are  so  strong 
as  those  of  the  German  people  can  only  reasonably  be 
interpreted  to  mean  a  Purpose  to  War.  That  that  pur- 
pose exists  and  that  that  purpose  determines  Germany's 
world's  politics,  I.  have  learned  from  many  prominent 
Germans,  military  and  naval  officers,  professors,  bank- 
ers, preachers.  And  more  than  that  this  same  purpose 
can  be  discovered  in  the  works  of  many  distinguished 
German  writers  during  the  last  twenty-five  years.  You 
see  this  pile  of  books  beside  me?  They  are  rilled  with 
open  and  avowed  declarations  of  this  purpose.  The 
raison  d'etre  of  the  great  Pan-German  League,  of  the 
powerful  Navy  League  with  one  million  and  a  half  mem- 
bers, and  of  the  other  great  German  organisations  is  war. 
Bear  with  me  while  I  read  to  you  extracts  from  some  of 
these  writings.  I  respectfully  ask  a  patient  hearing.  I 
would  not  did  I  not  feel  it  to  be  important  that  from  rep- 
resentative Germans  themselves  you  should  learn  the 
dominating  purpose  that  has  directed  and  determined  the 
course  of  German  activity  in  every  department  of  its 
national  life  for  the  last  quarter  of  a  century." 

For  almost  half  an  hour  the  speaker  read  extracts 
from  the  pile  of  books  on  the  table  beside  him.  "I  think 
I  may  now  fairly  claim  to  have  established  first  the  fact 
of  vast  preparations  by  Germany  for  war  and  the  further 
fact  that  Germany  cherishes  in  her  heart  a  settled  Pur- 
pose of  War."  It  was  interesting  to  know  how  this  pur- 
pose had  come  to  be  so  firmly  established  in  the  heart  of 
a  people  whom  we  had  always  considered  to  be  devoted 
to  the  cultivation  of  the  gentler  arts  of  peace.  The  his- 
tory of  the  rise  and  the  development  of  this  Purpose  to 
War  would  be  found  in  the  history  of  Germany  itself. 
He  then  briefly  touched  upon  the  outstanding  features 
in  the  history  of  the  German  Empire  from  the  days  of 


VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS    269 

the  great  Elector  of  Brandenburg  to  the  present  time. 
During  these  last  three  hundred  years,  while  the  English 
people  were  steadily  righting  for  and  winning  their  rights 
to  freedom  and  self-government  from  tyrant  kings,  in 
Prussia  two  powers  were  being  steadily  built  up,  namely 
autocracy  and  militarism,  till  under  Bismarck  and  after 
the  War  of  1870  these  two  powers  were  firmly  estab- 
lished in  the  very  fibre  of  the  new  modern  German  Em- 
pire. Since  the  days  of  Bismarck  the  autocrat  of  Ger- 
many had  claimed  the  hegemony  of  Europe  and  had 
dreamed  of  winning  for  himself  and  his  Empire  a  su- 
preme place  among  the  nations  of  the  world.  And  this 
dream  he  had  taught  his  people  to  share  with  him,  for  to 
them  it  meant  not  simply  greater  national  glory,  which 
had  become  a  mania  with  them,  but  expansion  of  trade 
and  larger  commercial  returns.  And  for  the  realisation 
of  this  dream,  the  German  Kaiser  and  his  people  with 
him  were  ready  and  were  waiting  the  opportunity  to 
plunge  the  world  into  the  bloodiest  war  of  all  time. 

At  some  length  the  speaker  proceeded  to  develop  the 
idea  of  the  necessary  connection  between  autocracy  and 
militarism,  and  the  relation  of  autocratic  and  military 
power  to  wars  of  conquest.  "The  German  Kaiser,"  he 
continued,  "is  ready  for  war  as  no  would-be  world  con- 
queror in  the  world's  history  has  ever  been  ready.  The 
German  Kaiser  cherishes  the  purpose  to  make  war,  and 
this  purpose  is  shared  in  and  approved  by  the  whole  body 
of  the  German  people."  These  facts  he  challenged  any 
one  to  controvert.  If  these  things  were  so,  what  should 
Canada  do?  Manifestly  one  thing  only — she  should  pre- 
pare to  do  her  duty  in  defending  herself  and  the  great 
Empire.  "So  far,"  he  continued,  "I  have  raised  no  con- 
troversial points.  I  have  purposely  abstained  from  deal- 
ing with  questions  that  may  be  regarded  from  a  partisan 
point  of  view.  I  beg  now  to  refer  to  a  subject  which 
unhappily  has  become  a  matter  of  controversy  in  Canada 
— the  subject,  namely,  of  the  construction  of  a  Canadian 
Navy.  [Disturbance  in  various  parts  of  the  building.] 


270  THE  MAJOR 

You  have  been  patient.  I  earnestly  ask  you  to  be  patient 
for  a  few  moments  longer.  Both  political  parties  fortu- 
nately are  agreed  upon  two  points;  first,  that  Canada 
must  do  its  share  and  is  willing  to  do  its  share  in  the 
defence  of  the  Empire.  On  this  point  all  Canadians  are 
at  one,  all  Canadians  are  fully  determined  to  do  their  full 
duty  to  the  Empire  which  has  protected  Canada  during 
its  whole  history,  and  with  which  it  is  every  loyal  Cana- 
dian's earnest  desire  to  maintain  political  connection. 
Second,  Canada  must  have  a  Navy.  Unfortunately,  while 
we  agree  upon  these  two  points,  there  are  two  points 
upon  which  we  differ.  First,  we  differ  upon  the  method 
to  be  adopted  in  constructing  our  Navy  and,  second, 
upon  the  question  of  Navy  control  in  war.  In  regard 
to  the  second  point,  I  would  only  say  that  I  should  be 
content  to  leave  the  settlement  of  that  question  to  the 
event.  When  war  conies  that  question  will  speedily  be 
settled,  and  settled,  I  am  convinced,  in  a  way  consistent 
with  what  we  all  desire  to  preserve,  Canadian  autonomy. 
In  regard  to  the  first,  I  would  be  willing  to  accept  any 
method  of  construction  that  promised  efficiency  and 
speed,  and  with  all  my  power  I  oppose  any  method  that 
necessitates  delay.  Considerations  of  such  questions  as 
location  of  dockyards,  the  type  of  ship,  the  size  of  ship,  I 
contend,  are  altogether  secondary.  The  main  considera- 
tion is  speed.  I  leave  these  facts  and  arguments  with 
you,  and  speaking  not  as  a  party  politician  but  simply 
as  a  loyal  Canadian  and  as  a  loyal  son  of  the  Empire,  I 
would  say,  'In  God's  name,  for  our  country's  honour  and 
for  the  sake  of  our  Empire's  existence,  let  us  with  our 
whole  energy  and  with  all  haste  prepare  for  war.' ' 

The  silence  that  greeted  the  conclusion  of  this  address 
gave  eloquent  proof  of  the  profound  impression  pro- 
duced. 

As  the  chairman  rose  to  close  the  meeting  the  audience 
received  a  shock.  The  raucous  voice  of  Holtzman  was 
heard  again  demanding  the  privilege  of  asking  two  ques- 
tions. 


VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS     271 

1  "The  first  question  I  would  ask,  Mr.  Chairman,  is  'his : 
Is  not  this  immense  war  preparation  of  Germany  ex- 
plicable on  the  theory  of  the  purpose  of  defence?  Mr. 
Allen  knows  well  that  both  on  the  eastern  a.nd  southern 
frontiers  Germany  is  threatened  by  the  aggression  of 
the  Pan-Slavic  movement,  and  to  protect  herself  from 
this  Pan-Slavic  movement,  together  with  a  possible 
French  alliance,  the  war  preparations  of  Germany  are 
none  too  vast.  Besides,  I  would  ask  Mr.  Allen,  What 
about  Britain's  vast  navy?" 

"The  answer  to  this  question,"  said  Mr.  Allen,  "is 
quite  simple.  What  nation  has  threatened  Germany  for 
the  past  forty  years?  On  the  contrary,  every  one  knows 
that  since  1875  five  separate  times  has  Germany  threat- 
ened war  against  France  and  twice  against  Russia.  Fur- 
thermore military  experts  assure  us  that  in  defensive 
war  an  army  equipped  with  modern  weapons  can  hold 
off  from  four  to  eight  times  its  own  strength.  It  is  ab- 
surd to  say  that  Germany's  military  preparations  are 
purely  defensive.  As  for  Britain's  navy,  the  answer  is 
equally  simple.  Britain's  Empire  is  like  no  other  Em- 
pire in  the  world  in  that  it  lies  spread  out  upon  the 
seven  seas.  It  is  essential  to  her  very  life  that  she  be  able 
to  keep  these  waterways  open  to  her  ships.  Otherwise 
she  exists  solely  upon  the  sufferance  of  any  nation  that 
can  wrest  from  her  the  supremacy  of  the  sea.  At  her 
will  Germany  has  the  right  to  close  against  all  the  world 
the  highways  of  her  empire;  the  highways  of  Britain's 
empire  are  the  open  seas  which  she  shares  with  the  other 
nations  of  the  world  and  which  she  cannot  close.  There- 
fore, these  highways  she  must  be  able  to  make  safe." 

"If  Mr.  Allen  imagines  that  this  answer  of  his  will 
satisfy  any  but  the  most  bigoted  Britain,  I  am  content. 
Another  question  I  would  ask.  Does  not  Mr.  Allen  think 
that  if  the  capitalistic  classes,  who  leave  their  burdens  to 
be  borne  by  the  unhappy  proletariat,  were  abolished  wars 
would  immediately  cease?  "Ooes  he  not  know  that  re- 
cently it  was  proved  in  Germany  that  the  Krupps  were 


272  THE  MAJOR 

found  to  be  promoting  war  scares  in  France  in  the  inter- 
ests of  their  own  infernal  trade?  And  lastly  does  not 
history  prove  that  Britain  is  the  great  robber  nation  of 
the  world  ?  And  does  he  not  think  that  it  is  time  she  was 
driven  from  her  high  place  by  a  nation  which  is  her  su- 
perior, commercially,  socially,  intellectually  and  every 
other  way?" 

As  if  by  a  preconcerted  signal  it  seemed  as  if  the 
whole  top  gallery  broke  into  a  pandemonium  of  approv- 
ing yells,  while  through  other  parts  of  the  house  arose 
fierce  shouts,  "Throw  him  out."  Mr.  Allen  rose  and 
stood  quietly  waiting  till  the  tumult  had  ceased. 

"If  the  gentleman  wishes  to  engage  me  in  a  discussion 
on  socialism,  my  answer  is  that  this  is  not  the  time  nor 
place  for  such  a  discussion.  The  question  which  I  have 
been  considering  is  one  much  too  grave  to  be  mixed  up 
with  an  academic  discussion  of  any  socialistic  theories." 

"Aha !    Aha !"  laughed  Holtzman  scornfully. 

"As  for  Britain's  history,  that  stands  for  all  the  world 
to  read.  All  the  nations  have  been  guilty  of  crimes ;  but 
let  me  say  that  any  one  who  knows  the  history  of  Ger- 
many for  the  last  three  hundred  years  is  aware  that  in 
unscrupulous  aggression  upon  weaker  neighbours,  in 
treachery  to  friend  and  foe,  Germany  is  the  equal  of  any 
nation  in  the  world.  But  if  you  consider  her  history 
since  1864  Germany  stands  in  shameless  and  solitary 
pre-eminence  above  any  nation  that  has  ever  been  for  un- 
scrupulous greed,  for  brutal,  ruthless  oppression  of 
smaller  peoples,  and  for  cynical  disregard  of  treaty  cov- 
enants, as  witness  Poland,  Austria,  Denmark,  Holland 
and  France.  As  to  the  treachery  of  the  Krupps,  I  be- 
lieve the  gentleman  is  quite  right,  but  I  would  remind 
him  that  the  Kaiser  has  no  better  friend  to-day  than 
Bertha  Krupp,  and  she  is  a  German." 

From  every  part  of  the  theatre  rose  one  mighty  yell 
of  delight  and  derision,  during  which  Holtzman  stood 
wildly  gesticulating  and  shouting  till  a  hand  was  seen 
to  reach  his  collar  and  he  disappeared  from  view.  Once 


VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS    273 

more  order  was  restored  and  the  chairman  on  the  point 
of  closing  the  meeting,  when  Larry  said  to  his  friend 
Smart: 

"I  should  dearly  love  to  take  a  hand  in  this." 

"Jump  in,"  said  Smart,  and  Larry  "jumped  in." 

"Mr.  Chairman,"  he  said  quietly,  "may  I  ask  Mr.  Allen 
a  question?" 

"No,"  said  the  chairman  in  curt  reply.  "The  hour  is 
late  and  I  think  further  discussion  at  present  is  un- 
profitable." 

But  here  Mr.  Allen  interposed.  "I  hope,  Mr.  Chair- 
man," he  said,  "you  will  allow  my  young  friend,  Mr. 
Gwynne,  of  whose  brilliant  achievements  in  our  Univer- 
sity we  are  all  so  proud,  to  ask  his  question." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  chairman  in  no  good  will. 

"Allow  me  to  thank  Mr.  Allen  for  his  courtesy,"  said 
Larry.  "Further  I  wish  to  say  that  though  by  birth,  by 
training,  and  by  conviction  I  am  a  pacifist  and  totally 
opposed  to  war,  yet  to-night  I  have  been  profoundly  im- 
pressed by  the  imposing  array  of  facts  presented  by 
the  speaker  and  by  the  arguments  built  upon  these  facts, 
and  especially  by  the  fine  patriotic  appeal  with  which  Mr. 
Allen  closed  his  address.  But  I  am  not  satisfied,  and  my 
question  is  this " 

"Will  not  Mr.  Gwynne  come  to  the  platform?"  said 
Mr.  Allen. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Larry,  "I  prefer  to  stay  where  I 
am,  I  am  much  too  shy." 

Cries  of  "Platform'  "Platform!"  however,  rose  on 
every  side,  to  which  Larry  finally  yielded,  and  encour- 
aged by  the  cheers  of  his  fellow  students  and  of  his  other 
friends  in  the  audience,  he  climbed  upon  the  platform. 
His  slight,  graceful  form,  the  look  of  intellectual  strength 
upon  his  pale  face,  his  modest  bearing,  his  humorous 
smile  won  sympathy  even  from  those  who  were  impatient 
at  the  prolonging  of  the  meeting. 

"Mr.  Chairman,"  he  began  with  an  exaggerated  look 
of  fear  upon  his  face,  "I  confess  I  am  terrified  by  the 


274  THE  MAJOR 

position  in  which  I  find  myself,  and  were  it  not  that  I 
feel  deeply  the  immense  importance  of  this  question  and 
the  gravity  of  the  appeal  with  which  the  speaker  closed 
his  address,  I  would  not  have  ventured  to  say  a  word. 
My  first  question  is  this:  Does  not  Mr.  Allen  greatly 
exaggerate  the  danger  of  war  with  Germany?  And  my 
reasons  for  this  question  are  these.  Every  one  knows 
that  the  relations  between  Great  Britain  and  Germany 
have  been  steadily  improving  during  the  last  two  or 
three  years.  I  note  in  this  connection  a  statement  made 
only  a  few  months  ago  by  the  First  Lord  of  the 
Admiralty,  Mr.  Winston  Churchill.  It  reads  as  follows : 

"  'The  Germans  are  a  nation  with  robust  minds  and  9. 
high  sense  of  honour  and  fair  play.  They  look  at  affair* 
in  a  practical  military  spirit.  They  like  to  have  facts  put 
squarely  before  them.  They  do  not  want  them  wrapped 
up  lest  they  should  be  shocked  by  them,  and  relations 
between  the  two  countries  have  steadily  improved  durinf 
the  past  year.  They  have  steadily  improved  side  by  side 
with  every  evidence  of  our  determination  to  maintain  our 
naval  supremacy.' 

"These  words  spoken  in  the  British  House  of  Com- 
mons give  us  Mr.  Winston  Churchill's  deliberate  judg- 
ment as  to  the  relations  between  Germany  and  Great 
Britain.  Further  Mr.  Allen  knows  that  during  the  past 
two  years  various  peace  delegations  composed  of  people  of 
the  highest  standing  in  each  country  have  exchanged  vis- 
its. I  understand  from  private  correspondence  from  those 
who  have  promoted  thesj  delegations  that  the  last  British 
delegation  was  received  in  Germany  with  the  utmost  en- 
thusiasm by  men  of  all  ranks  and  professions,  generals, 
admirals,  burgomasters,  professors  and  by  the  Kaiser 
himself,  all  professing  devotion  to  the  cause  of  peace  and 
all  wishing  the  delegation  Godspeed.  Surely  these  are 
indications  that  the  danger  of  war  is  passing  away. 
You,  Sir,  have  made  an  appeal  for  war  preparation  to- 
night, a  great  and  solemn  appeal  and  a  moving  appeal  for 
war — merciful  God,  for  war!  I  have  been  reading  about 


VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS     275 

war  during  the  past  three  months,  I  have  been  reading 
again  Zola's  Debacle — a  great  appeal  for  preparedness, 
you  would  say.  Yes,  but  a  terrific  picture  of  the  woes  of 
war." 

Larry  paused.  A  great  silence  had  fallen  upon  the 
people.  There  flashed  across  his  mind  as  he  spoke  a 
vision  of  war's  red,  reeking  way  across  the  fair  land  of 
France.  In  a  low  but  far-penetrating  voice,  thrilling 
with  the  agonies  which  were  spread  out  before  him  in 
vision,  he  pictured  the  battlefield  with  its  mad  blood  lust, 
the  fury  of  men  against  men  with  whom  they  had  no 
quarrel,  the  mangled  ruins  of  human  remains  in  dressing 
station  and  hospital,  the  white-faced,  wild-eyed  women 
waiting  at  home,  and  back  of  all,  safe,  snug  and  cynical, 
the  selfish,  ambitious  promoters  of  war.  Steady  as  a 
marching  column  without  pause  or  falter,  in  a  tone  mo- 
notonous yet  thrilling  with  a  certain  subdued  passion,  he 
gave  forth  his  indictment  of  war.  He  was  on  familiar 
ground  for  this  had  been  the  theme  of  his  prize  essay  last 
winter.  But  to-night  the  thing  to  him  was  vital,  terri- 
fying, horrible.  He  was  delivering  no  set  address,  but 
with  all  the  power  of  his  soul  he  was  pleading  for  com- 
rades and  friends,  for  wives  and  sweethearts,  for  little 
babes  and  for  white-haired  mothers,  "and  in  the  face  of 
all  this,  you  are  asking  us  to  prepare  that  we  Canadians, 
peaceful  and  peace-loving,  should  do  our  share  to  per- 
petrate this  unspeakable  outrage  upon  our  fellow  men, 
this  insolent  affront  against  Almighty  God.  Tell  me,  if 
Canada,  if  Britain,  were  to  expend  one-tenth,  one- 
hundredth  part  of  the  energy,  skill,  wealth,  in  promoting 
peace  which  they  spend  on  war,  do  you  not  think  we 
might  have  a  surer  hope  of  warding  off  from  our  Cana- 
dian homes  this  unspeakable  horror?"  With  white  face 
and  flaming  eyes,  his  form  tense  and  quivering,  he  stood 
facing  the  advocate  of  war.  For  some  moments,  during 
which  men  seemed  scarcely  to  breathe,  the  two  faced  each 
other.  Then  in  a  voice  that  rang  throughout  the  theatre 


276  THE  MAJOR 

as  it  had  not  in  all  his  previous  speech,  but  vibrant  with 
sad  and  passionate  conviction,  Mr.  Allen  made  reply. 

"It  is  to  ward  off  from  our  people  and  from  our 
Canadian  homes  this  calamity  that  you  have  so  vividly 
pictured  for  us  that  I  have  made  my  appeal  to-night. 
Your  enemy  who  seeks  your  destruction  will  be  more 
likely  to  halt  in  his  spring  if  you  cover  him  with  your 
gun  than  if  you  appeal  to  him  with  empty  hands.  For 
this  reason,  it  is  that  once  more  I  appeal  to  my  fellow 
Canadians  in  God's  name,  in  the  name  of  all  that  we  hold 
dear,  let  us  with  all  our  power  and  with  all  speed  pre- 
pare for  war." 

"God  Save  the  King,"  said  the  Chairman.  And  not 
since  the  thrilling  days  of  Mafeking  had  Winnipeg  peo- 
ple sung  that  quaint  archaic,  but  moving  anthem  as  they 
sang  it  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  DOOR 

FROM   the   remarks   of   his    friends  even   as   they 
thronged  him,  offering  congratulations,  Mr.  Allen 
could  easily  gather  that  however  impressive  his  speech 
had  been,  few  of  his  audience  had  taken  his  warning 
seriously. 

"You  queered  my  speech,  Larry,"  he  said,  "but  I  for- 
give you." 

"Not  at  all,  Sir,"  replied  Larry.  "You  certainly  got 
me." 

"I  fear,"  replied  Mr.  Allen,  "that  I  am  'the  voice  cry- 
ing in  the  wilderness/ ' 

At  the  Aliens'  party  Larry  was  overwhelmed  with 
congratulations  on  his  speech,  the  report  of  which  had 
been  carried  before  him  by  his  friends. 

"They  tell  me  your  speech  was  quite  thrilling,"  said 
Mrs.  Allen  as  she  greeted  Larry. 

"Your  husband  is  responsible  for  everything,"  replied 
Larry. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Allen,  "Miss  Jane  here  is  finally  re- 
sponsible. Hers  were  the  big  shells  I  fired." 

"Not  mine,"  replied  Jane.  "I  got  them  from  Mr.  Ro- 
mayne,  your  brother-in-law,  Larry." 

"Well,  I'm  blowed !"  said  Larry.  "That's  where  the 
stuff  came  from!  But  it  was  mighty  effective,  and  cer- 
tainly you  put  it  to  us,  Mr.  Allen.  You  made  us  all 
feel  like  fighting.  Even  Scuddy,  there,  ran  amuck  for 
a  while." 

"What?"  said  Mr.  Allen,  "you  don't  really  mean  to 
say  that  Scudamore,  our  genial  Y.  M.  C.  A.  Secretary, 
was  in  that  scrap?  That  cheers  me  greatly." 

277 


278  THE  MAJOR 

"Was  he !"  said  Ramsay  Dunn,  whose  flushed  face  and 
preternaturally  grave  demeanour  sufficiently  explained  his 
failure  to  appear  at  Dr.  Brown's  dinner.  "While  Mr. 
Smart's  life  was  saved  by  the  timely  upper-cut  of  our 
distinguished  pacifist,  Mr.  Gwynne,  without  a  doubt  Mr. 
Scudamore — hold  him  there,  Scallons,  while  I  adequately 

depict  his  achievement-- "  Immediately  Scallons  and 

Ted  Tuttle,  Scudamore's  right  and  left  supports  on  the 
scrimmage  line,  seized  him  and  held  him  fast.  "As  I  was 
saying,"  continued  Dunn,  "great  as  were  the  services  ren- 
dered to  the  cause  by  our  distinguished  pacifist,  Mr. 
Gwynne,  the  supreme  glory  must  linger  round  the  head 
of  our  centre  scrim  and  Y.  M.  C.  A.  Secretary,  Mr.  Scud- 
amore, to  whose  effective  intervention  both  Mr.  Smart 
and  Mr.  Gwynne  owe  the  soundness  of  their  physical 
condition  which  we  see  them  enjoying  at  the  present 
moment." 

In  the  midst  of  his  flowing  periods  Dunn  paused 
abruptly  and  turned  away.  He  had  caught  sight  of 
Jane's  face,  grieved  and  shocked,  in  the  group  about  him. 
Later  he  approached  her  with  every  appearance  of  pro- 
found humiliation.  "Miss  Brown,"  he  said,  "I  must  apol- 
ogise for  not  appearing  at  dinner  this  evening." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Dunn,"  said  Jane,  "why  will  you  do  it? 
Why  break  the  hearts  of  all  your  friends?" 

"Why?  Because  I  am  a  fool,"  he  said  bitterly.  "If 
I  had  more  friends  like  you,  Miss  Brown,"  he  paused 
abruptly,  then  burst  forth,  "Jane,  you  always  make  me 
fee!  like  a  beast."  But  Larry's  approach  cut  short  any 
further  conversation. 

"Jane,  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  said  Larry  impetuously. 
"Let  us  get  away  somewhere." 

In  the  library  they  found  a  quiet  spot,  where  they  sat 
down. 

"I  want  to  tell  you,"  said  Larry,  "that  I  feel  that  I 
treated  you  shabbily  to-day.  I  have  only  a  poor  excuse 
to  offer,  but  I  should  like  to  explain." 

"Don't,  Larry,"   said  Jane,  her  words  coming  with 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  DOOR    279 

hurried  impetuosity.  "I  was  very  silly.  I  had  quite 
forgotten  it.  You  know  we  have  always  told  each  other 
things,  and  I  expected  that  you  would  come  in  this  morn- 
ing just  to  talk  over  your  medal,  and  I  did  want  a  chance 
to  say  how  glad  I  was  for  you,  and  how  glad  and  how 
proud  I  knew  your  mother  would  be;  and  to  tell  the 
truth  really,"  she  added  with  a  shy  little  laugh,  "I  wanted 
to  have  you  congratulate  me  on  my  prize  too.  But, 
Larry,  I  understand  how  you  forgot." 

"Forgot!"  said  Larry.  "No,  Jane,  I  did  not  forget, 
but  this  telegram  from  Chicago  came  last  night,  and  I 
was  busy  with  my  packing  all  morning  and  then  in  the 
afternoon  I  thought  I  would  hurry  through  a  few  calls — 
they  always  take  longer  than  one  thinks — and  before  I 
knew  it  I  was  late  for  dinner.  I  had  not  forgotten;  I 
was  thinking  of  you  all  day,  Jane." 

"Were  you,  Larry?"  said  Jane,  a  gentle  tenderness  in 
her  smile.  "I  am  glad." 

Then  a  silence  fell  between  them  for  some  moments. 
They  were  both  thinking  of  the  change  that  was  coming 
to  their  lives.  Larry  was  wondering  how  he  would  ever 
do  without  this  true-hearted  friend  whose  place  in  his 
life  he  was  only  discovering  now  to  be  so  large.  He 
glanced  at  her.  Her  eyes  were  glowing  with  a  soft 
radiance  that  seemed  to  overflow  from  some  inner 
spring. 

"Jane,"  he  cried  with  a  sudden  impulse,  "you  are 
lovely,  you  are  perfectly  lovely." 

A  shy,  startled,  eager  look  leaped  into  her  eyes.  Then 
her  face  grew  pale.  She  waked,  expectant,  tremulous. 
But  at  that  instant  a  noisy  group  passed  into  the  library. 

"Larry,"  whispered  Jane,  turning  swiftly  to  him  and 
laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  "you  will  take  me  home 
to-night." 

"All  right,  Jane,  of  course,"  said  Larry. 

As  they  passed  out  from  the  library  Helen  Brookes 
met  them.  "Larry,  come  here,"  she  said  in  a  voice  of 
suppressed  excitement.  "Larry,  don't  you  want  to  do> 


280  THE  MAJOR 

something  for  me?  Scuddy  wants  to  take  me  home  to- 
night, and  I  don't  want  him  to." 

"But  why  not,  Helen?  You  ought  to  be  good  to 
Scuddy,  poor  chap.  He's  a  splendid  fellow,  and  I  won't 
have  him  abused." 

"Not  to-night,  Larry;  I  can't  have  him  to-night.  You 
will  take  me  home,  won't  you?  I  am  going  very  soon." 

"You  are,  eh?  Well,  if  you  can  go  within  ten  min- 
utes, I  shall  be  ready." 

"Say  fifteen,"  said  Helen,  turning  to  meet  Lloyd  Rush- 
brook,  the  Beau  Brummel  of  the  college,  who  came  claim- 
ing a  dance. 

Larry  at  once  went  in  search  of  Jane  to  tell  her  of  his 
engagement  with  Helen  Brookes,  but  could  find  her  no- 
where, and  after  some  time  spent  in  a  vain  search,  he 
left  a  message  for  her  with  his  hostess.  At  the  head 
of  the  stairs  he  found  Helen  waiting. 

"Oh,  hurry,  Larry,"  she  cried  in  a  fever  of  excitement. 
"Let's  get  away  quickly." 

"Two  minutes  will  do  me,"  said  Larry,  rushing  into 
the  dressing  room. 

There  .he  found  Scudamore  pacing  up  and  down  in 
fierce,  gloomy  silence. 

"You  are  taking  her  home,  Larry?"  he  said. 

"Who?"  said  Larry.  Then  glancing  at  his  face,  he 
added,  "Yes,  Scuddy,  I  am  taking  Helen  home.  She  is 
apparently  in  a  great  hurry." 

"She  need  not  be;  I  shall  not  bother  her  any  more," 
said  Scuddy  bitterly,  "and  you  can  tell  her  that  for  me, 
if  you  like." 

"No,  I  won't  tell  her  that,  Scuddy,"  said  Larry,  "and, 
Scuddy,"  he  added,  imparting  a  bit  of  worldly  wisdom, 
"campaigns  are  not.  won  in  a  single  battle,  and,  Scuddy, 
remember  too  that  the  whistling  fisherman  catches  the 
fish.  So  cheer  up,  old  boy."  But  Scuddy  only  glowered 
at  him. 

Larry  found  Helen  nwaiting  him,  and  quietly  they 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  DOOR    281 

slipped  out  together.  "This  is  splendid  of  you,  Larry," 
she  said,  taking  his  arm  and  giving  him  a  little  squeeze. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,  Helen.  I  left  Scuddy  rag- 
ing upstairs  there.  You  girls  are  the  very  devil  for 
cruelty  sometimes.  You  get  men  serious  with  you,  then 
you  flirt  and  flutter  about  till  the  unhappy  wretches  don't 
know  where  they  are  at.  Here's  our  car." 

"Car!"  exclaimed  Helen.  "With  this  moonlight, 
Larry?  And  you  going  away  to-morrow?  Not  if  I 
know  it." 

"It  is  fearfully  unromantic,  Helen,  I  know.  But  I 
must  hurry.  I  have  to  take  Jane  home." 

"Oh,  Jane!    It's  always  Jane,  Jane!" 

"Well,  why  not?"  said  Larry.  "For  years  Jane  has 
been  my  greatest  pal,  my  best  friend." 

"Nothing  more?"  said  Helen  earnestly.  "Cross  your 
heart,  Larry." 

"Nothing  more,  cross  my  heart  and  all  the  rest  of  it," 
replied  Larry.  "Why!  here's  another  car,  Helen." 

"Oh,  Larry,  you  are  horrid,  perfectly  heartless!  We 
may  never  walk  together  again.  Here  I  am  throwing 
myself  at  you  and  you  only  think  of  getting  away  back." 
Under  her  chaffing  words  there  sounded  a  deeper  note. 

"So  I  see,"  said  Larry,  laughing  and  refusing-  to  hear 
the  deeper  undertone.  "But  I  see  something  else  as 
well." 

"What?"  challenged  Helen. 

"I  see  Scuddy  leading  out  from  Trinity  some  day  the 
loveliest  girl  in  Winnipeg." 

"Oh,  I  won't  talk  about  Scuddy,"  said  Helen  impa- 
tiently. "I  want  to  talk  about  you.  Tell  me  about  this 
Chicago  business." 

For  the  rest  of  the  way  home  she  led  Larry  to  talk 
of  his  plans  for  the  future.  At  her  door  Helen  held  out 
her  hand.  "You  won't  come  in,  Larry,  I  know,  so  we 
will  say  good-bye  here."  Her  voice  was  gentle  and 
earnest.  The  gay,  proud,  saucy  air  which  she  had  ever 
worn  and  which  had  been  one  of  her  chief  charms,  was 


282  THE  MAJOR 

gone.  The  moonlight  revealed  a  lovely  wistful  face  from 
which  misty  eyes  looked  into  his.  "This  is  the  end  of 
our  good  times  together,  Larry.  And  we  have  had  good 
times.  You  are  going  to  be  a  great  man  some  day.  I 
wish  you  all  the  best  in  life." 

"Thank  you,  Helen,"  said  Larry,  touched  by  the  tones 
of  her  voice  and  the  look  in  her  eyes.  "We  have  been 
-good  friends.  We  shall  never  be  anything  else.  With 
my  heart  I  wish  you — oh,  just  everything  that  is  good, 
Helen  dear.  Good-bye,"  he  said,  leaning  toward  her. 
4<How  lovely  you  are !"  he  murmured. 

"Good-bye,  dear  Larry,"  she  whispered,  lifting  up  her 
lace. 

"Good-bye,  you  dear  girl,"  he  said,  and  kissed  her. 

"Now  go,"  she  said,  pushing  him  away  from  her. 

"Be  good  to  Scuddy,"  he  replied  as  he  turned  from 
her  and  hurried  away. 

He  broke  into  a  run,  fearing  to  be  late,  and  by  the 
time  he  arrived  at  the  Aliens'  door  he  had  forgotten  all 
about  Helen  Brookes  and  was  thinking  only  of  Jane  and 
of  what  he  wanted  to  say  to  her.  At  the  inner  door  he 
met  Macleod  and  Ethel  coming  out. 

"Jane's  gone,"  said  Ethel,  "some  time  ago." 

"Gone?"  said  Larry. 

"Yes,  Scuddy  took  her  home." 

"Are  they  all  gone?"  inquired  Larry. 

"Yes,  for  the  most  part." 

"Oh,  all  right  then ;  I  think  I  shall  not  go  in.  Good- 
night," he  said,  turned  abruptly  about  and  set  off  for  Dr. 
Brown's.  He  looked  again  at  his  watch.  He  was  sur- 
prised to  find  it  was  not  so  very  late.  Why  had  Jane  not 
waited  for  him?  Had  he  hurt  her  again?  He  was 
sorely  disappointed.  Surely  she  had  no  reason  to  be  of- 
fended, and  this  was  his  last  night.  As  he  thought  the 
matter  over  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  now  it  was 
he  that  had  a  grievance.  Arrived  at  Dr.  Brown's  house 
the  only  light  to  be  seen  was  in  Jane's  room  upstairs. 
Should  he  go  in  or  should  he  go  home  and  wait  till  to- 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  DOOR    283 

morrow.  He  was  too  miserable  to  think  of  going  home 
without  seeing  her.  He  determined  that  he  must  see  her 
at  all  cost  to-night.  He  took  a  pebble  and  flung  it  up 
against  her  window,  and  another  and  another.  The  win- 
dow opened  and  Jane  appeared. 

"Oh,  Larry,"  she  whispered.  "Is  it  you?  Wait,  I 
shall  be  down." 

She  opened  the  door  for  him  and  stood  waiting  for 
him  to  speak.  "Why  didn't  you  wait  ?"  he  asked,  passing 
into  the  hall.  "I  was  not  very  long." 

"Why  should  I  wait,  Larry?"  she  said  quietly.  "Scuddy 
told  me  you  had  gone  home  with  Helen." 

"But  didn't  I  promise  that  I  would  take  you  home  ?" 

"You  did,  and  then  went  away." 

"Well,  all  I  have  to  say,  Jane,  is  that  this  is  not  a  bit 
like  you.  I  am  sorry  I  brought  you  down,  and  I  won't 
keep  you  any  longer.  Good-night.  I  shall  see  you  to- 
morrow." 

But  Jane  got  between  him  and  the  door  and  stood  with 
her  back  to  it.  "No,  Larry,  you  are  not  going  away  like 
that.  Go  into  the  study."  Larry  looked  at  her  in  as- 
tonishment. This  was  indeed  a  new  Jane  to  him. 
Wrathful,  imperious,  she  stood  waving  him  toward  the 
study  door.  In  spite  of  his  irritation  he  was  conscious 
of  a  new  admiration  for  her.  Feeling  a  little  like  a  boy 
about  to  receive  his  punishment,  he  passed  into  the  study. 

"Didn't  Mrs.  Allen  give  you  my  message?"  he  said. 

"Your  message,  Larry?"  cried  Jane,  a  light  breaking 
upon  her  face.  "Did  you  leave  a  message  for  me  ?" 

"I  did.  I  told  Mrs.  Allen  to  tell  you  where  I  had 
gone — Helen  was  so  anxious  to  go — and  that  I  would 
be  right  back."  Larry's  voice  was  full  of  reproach. 

"Oh,  Larry,  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Jane,  her  tone  indi- 
cating the  greatness  of  her  relief.     "I  knew  it  was  all 
right — that  something  had  prevented.    I  am  so  glad  you 
came  in.    You  must  have  thought  me  queer." 
.     "No,"  said  Larry,  appeased,  "I  knew  all  the  time  there 


284  THE  MAJOR 

must  be  some  explanation,  only  I  was  feeling  so  miser- 
able." 

"And  I  was  miserable*  too,  Larry/'  she  said  gently. 
"It  seemed  a  pity  that  this  should  happen  on  our  last 
night."  All  her  wrath  was  gone.  She  was  once 
more  the  Jane  that  Larry  had  always  known,  gentle, 
sweet,  straightforward,  and  on  her  face  the  old  transfig- 
uring smile.  Before  this  change  of  mood  all  his  irritation 
vanished.  Humbled,  penitent,  and  with  a  rush  of  warm 
affection  filling  his  heart,  he  said, 

"I  should  have  known  you  were  not  to  blame,  but 
you  are  always  right.  Never  once  in  all  these  years  have 
you  failed  me.  You  always  understand  a  fellow.  Do 
you  know  I  am  wondering  how  I  shall  ever  do  without 
you?  Have  you  thought,  Jane,  that  to-morrow  this  old 
life  of  ours  together  will  end?" 

"Yes,  Larry."  Her  voice  was  low,  almost  a  whisper, 
and  in  her  eyes  an  eager  light  shone. 

"It  just  breaks  my  heart,  Jane.  We  have  been — we 
are  such  good  friends.  If  we  had  only  fallen  in  love 
with  each  other. — But  that  would  have  spoiled  it  all.  We 
are  not  like  other  people;  we  have  been  such  chums, 
Jane." 

"Yes,  Larry,"  she  said  again,  but  the  eager  light  had 
faded  from  her  eyes. 

"Let's  sit  a  bit,  Larry,"  she  said.  "I  am  tired,  and 
you  are  tired,  too,"  she  added  quickly,  "after  your  hard 
day." 

For  a  little  time  they  sat  in  silence  together,  both 
shrinking  from  the  parting  that  they  knew  was  so  near. 
Larry  gazed  at  her,  wondering  to  himself  that  he  had 
ever  thought  her  plain.  To-night  she  seemed  beautiful 
and  very  dear  to  him.  Next  to  his  mother,  was  her  place 
in  his  heart.  Was  this  that  he  felt  for  her  what  they 
called  love?  With  all  his  soul  he  wished  he  could  take 
her  in  his  arms  and  say,  "Jane,  I  love  you."  But  still  he 
knew  that  his  words  would  not  ring  true.  More  than 
that,  Jane  would  know  it  too.  Besides,  might  not  her 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  DOOR    285 

feeling  for  him  be  of  the  same  quality?  What  could  he 
say  in  this  hour  which  he  recognised  to  be  a  crisis  in 
their  lives?  Sick  at  heart  and  oppressed  with  his  feeling 
of  loneliness  and  impotence,  he  could  only  look  at  her  in 
speechless  misery.  Then  he  thought  she,  too,  was  suf- 
fering, the  same  misery  was  filling  her  heart.  She  looked 
utterly  spent  and  weary. 

"Jane,"  he  said  desperately.  She  started.  She,  too, 
had  been  thinking.  "Scuddy  is  in  love  with  Helen,  Mac- 
leod  is  in  love  with  Ethel.  I  wish  to  God  I  had  fallen 
in  love  with  you  and  you  with  me.  Then  we  would  have 
something  to  look  forward  to.  Do  you  know,  Jane,  I 
am  like  a  boy  leaving  home?  We  are  going  to  drift 
apart.  Others  will  come  between  us." 

"No,  Larry,"  cried  Jane  with  quick  vehemence.  "Not 
that.  You  won't  let  that  come." 

"Can  we  help  it,  Jape  ?"  Then  her  weariness  appealed 
to  him.  "It  is  a  shame  to  keep  you  up.  I  have  given 
you  a  hard  day,  Jane."  She  shook  her  head.  "And 
there  is  no  use  waiting.  We  can  only  say  good-bye." 
Ke  rose  from  his  chair.  Should  he  kiss  her,  he  asked 
himself.  He  had  had  no  hesitation  in  kissing  Helen  an 
hour  ago.  That  seemed  a  light  thing  to  him,  but  some- 
how he  shrank  from  offering  to  kiss  Jane.  If  he  could 
only  say  sincerely,  "Jane,  I  love  you,"  then  he  could  kiss 
her,  but  this  he  could  not  say  truly.  Anything  but  perfect 
sincerity  he  knew  she  would  detect;  and  she  would  be 
outraged  by  it.  Yet  as  he  stood'  looking  down  upon 
her  pale  face,  her  wavering  smile,  her  quivering  lips,  he 
was  conscious  of  a  rush  of  pity  and  of  tenderness  al- 
most uncontrollable. 

"Good-bye,  Jane;  God  keep  you  always,  dear,  dear 
Jane."  He  held  her  hands,  looking  into  the  deep  blue 
eyes  that  looked  back  at  him  so  bravely.  He  felt  that  he 
was  fast  losing  his  grip  upon  himself,  and  he  must  hurry 
away. 

"Good-bye,  Larry,"  she  said  simply. 

"Good-bye,"  he  said  again  in  a  husky  voice.    Abruptly 


286  THE  MAJOR 

he  turned  and  left  her  and  passed  out  through  the  door. 

Sore,  sick  at  heart,  he  stumbled  down  the  steps.  "My 
God,"  he  cried,  ''what  a  fool  I  am  i  Why  didn't  I  kiss 
her?  I  might  have  done  that  at  least." 

He  stood  looking  at  the  closed  door,  struggling  against 
an  almost  irresistible  impulse  to  return  and  take  her  in 
his  arms.  Did  he  not  love  her?  What  other  was  this 
that  filled  his  heart?  Could  he  honestly  say,  "Jane,  I 
want  you  for  my  wife"  ?  He  could  not.  Miserable  and 
cursing  himself  he  went  his  way. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  GERMAN  TYPE  OF  CITIZENSHIP 

MR.  DEAN  WAKEHAM  was  always  glad  to  have 
a  decent  excuse  to  run  up  to  the  Lakeside  Farm. 
His  duties  at  the  Manor  Mine  were  not  so  pressing  that 
he  could  not  on  occasion  take  leave  of  absence,  but  to 
impose  himself  upon  the  Lakeside  household  as  fre- 
quently as  he  desired  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  utilise 
all  possible  excuses.  In  the  letter  which  he  held  in  his 
hand  and  which  he  had  just  read  he  fancied  he  had 
found  a  perfectly  good  excuse  for  a  call.  The  letter 
was  from  his  sister  Rowena  and  was  dated  May  I5th, 
1914.  It  was  upon  his  sister's  letters  that  he  depended 
for  information  regarding  the  family  life  generally  and 
about  herself  in  particular.  His  mother's  letters  were 
intimate  and  personal,  reflecting,  however,  various  phases 
of  her  ailments,  her  anxieties  for  each  member  of  the 
family,  but  especially  for  her  only  son  now  so  far  from 
her  in  that  wild  and  uncivilised  country,  but  ever  over- 
flowing with  tender  affection.  Dean  always  put  down 
his  mother's  letters  with  a  smile  of  gentle  pity  on  his 
face.  "Poor,  dear  Mater,"  he  would  say.  "She  is  at 
vest  about  me  only  when  she  has  me  safely  tucked  up  in 
vny  little  bed."  His  father's  letters  kept  him  in  touch 
with  the  office  and,  by  an  illuminating  phrase  or  two, 
with  the  questions  of  Big  Business.  But  when  he  had 
finished  Rowena's  letters  he  always  felt  as  if  he  had  been 
paying  a  visit  to  his  home.  Through  her  letters  his  sister 
had  the  rare  gift  of  transmitting  atmosphere.  There 
were  certain  passages  in  his  letter  just  received  which  he 
felt  he  should  at  the  earliest  moment  share  with  the 
Lakeside  Farm  people,  in  other  \vords,  with  Nora. 

287 


288  THE  MAJOR 

His  car  conveyed  him  with  all  speed  to  Lakeside  Farm 
in  good  time  for  the  evening  meal.  To  the  assembled 
family  Dean  proceeded  to  read  passages  which  he  con- 
sidered of  interest  to  them.  "  'Well,  your  Canadian  has 
really  settled  down  into  his  place  in  the  office  and  into  his 
own  rooms.  It  was  all  we  could  do  to  hold  him  with  us 
for  a  month,  he  is  so  fearfully  independent.  Are  all 
Canadians  like  that?  The  Mater  would  have  been  glad 
to  have  had  him  remain  a  month  longer.  But  would  he 
stay?  He  has  a  way  with  him.  He  has  struck  up  a  ter- 
rific friendship  with  Hugo  Raeder.  You  remember  the 
Yale  man  who  has  come  to  Benedick,  Frame  and  Com- 
pany, father's  financial  people?  Quite  a  presentable 
young  man  he  is  of  the  best  Yale  type,  which  is  saying* 
something.  Larry  and  he  have  tied  up  to  each  other  in 
quite  a  touching  way.  In  the  office,  too,  Larry  has  found 
his  place.  He  captured  old  Scread  the  very  first  day  by 
working  out  some  calculations  that  had  been  allowed  to 
accumulate,  using  some  method  of  his  own  which  quite 
paralysed  the  old  chap.  Oh,  he  has  a  way  with  him,  that 
Canadian  boy !  Father,  too,  has  fallen  for  him.  To  hear 
him  talk  you  would  imagine  that  he  fully  intended  hand- 
ing over  ere  long  the  business  to  Larry's  care.  The  Ma-* 
ter  has  adopted  him  as  well,  but  with  reservations.  Of 
course,  what  is  troubling  her  is  her  dread  of  a  Canadian 

invasion  of  her  household,  especially '  um  um " 

At  this  point  Mr.  Dean  Wakeham  read  a  portion  of  the 
letter  to  himself  with  slightly  heightened  colour.  "  'While 
as  for  Elfie,  he  has  captured  her,  baggage  and  bones. 
The  little  monkey  apparently  lives  only  for  him.  While 
as  for  Larry,  you  would  think  that  the  office  and  the 
family  were  the  merest  side  issues  in  comparison  with  the 
kid.  All  the  same  it  is  very  beautiful  to  see  them  to- 
gether. At  times  you  would  think  they  were  the  same 
age  and  both  children.  At  other  times  she  regards  him 
with  worshipful  eyes  and  drinks  in  his  words  as  if  he 
were  some  superior  being  and  she  his  equal  in  age  and 
experience.  She  has  taken  possession  of  him,  and  never 


GERMAN  CITIZENSHIP         289 

hesitates  to  carry  him  off  to  her  own  quarters,  apparently 
to  his  delight.  Oh,  he  has  a  way  with  him,  that  Canadian 
boy!  The  latest  is  that  he  has  invited  Elfie  to  stay  a 
month  with  him  in  Alberta  when  he  gets  his  first  holiday. 
He  has  raved  to  her  over  Polly.  Elfie,  I  believe,  has  ac- 
cepted his  invitation  regardless  of  the  wishes  of  either 
family.  The  poor  little  soul  is  really  better,  I  believe, 
for  his  companionship.  She  is  not  so  fretful  and  she 
actually  takes  her  medicine  without  a  fight  and  goes  to 
bed  at  decent  hours  upon  the  merest  hint  of  his  Lord- 
ship's desire  in  the  matter.  In  short,  he  has  the  family 
quite  prostrate  before  him.  I  alone  have  been  able  to 
stand  upright  and  maintain  my  own  individuality.' ' 

"I  am  really  awfully  glad  about  the  kid,"  said  Dean. 
"After  all  she  really  has  rather  a  hard  time.  She  is  so 
delicate  arid  needs  extra  care  and  attention,  and  that,  I 
am  afraid,  has  spoiled  her  a  bit." 

"Why  shouldn't  the  little  girl  spend  a  few  weeks  with 
us  here  this  summer,  Mr.  Wakeham  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Gwynne.  "Will  you  not  say  to  your  mother  that  we 
should  take  good  care  of  her?" 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Gwynne,  that  is  awfully  good  of  you,  but 
I  am  a  little  afraid  you  would  find  her  quite  a  handful. 
As  I  have  said,  she  is  a  spoiled  little  monkey  and  not 
easy  to  do  with.  She  would  give  you  all  a  lot  of  trouble," 
added  Dean,  looking  at  Nora. 

"Trouble?  Not  at  all,"  said  Nora.  "She  could  do 
just  as  she  likes  here.  We  would  give  her  Polly  and 
let  her  roam.  And  on  the  farm  she  would  find  a  number 
of  things  to  interest  her." 

"It  would  be  an  awfully  good  thing  for  her,  I  know," 
said  Dean,  vainly  trying  to  suppress  the  eagerness  in  his 
tone,  "and  if  you  are  really  sure  that  it  would  not  be  too 
much  of  a  burden  I  might  write." 

"No  burden  at  all,  Mr.  Wakeham,"  said  Mrs.  Gwynne. 
"If  you  will  write  and  ask  Mrs.  Wakeham,  and  bring 
her  with  you  when  you  return,  we  shall  do  what  we  can 


290  THE  MAJOR 

to  make  her  visit  a  happy  one,  and  indeed,  it  may  do  the 
dear  child  a  great  deal  of  good." 

Thus  it  came  about  that  the  little  city  child,  delicate, 
fretted,  spoiled,  was  installed  in  the  household  at  Lake- 
side Farm  for  2  visit  which  lengthened  out  far  beyond  its 
original  limits.  The  days  spent  upon  the  farm  were  full 
of  bliss  to  her,  the  only  drawback  to  the  perfect  happiness 
of  the  little  girl  being  the  separation  from  her  beloved 
fidus  Achates,  with  whom  she  maintained  an  epistolary 
activity  extraordinarily  intimate  and  vivid.  Upon  this 
correspondence  the  Wakeham  family  came  chiefly  to  de- 
pend for  enlightenment  as  to  the  young  lady's  activities 
and  state  of  health,  and  it  came  to  be  recognised  as  part 
of  Larry's  duty  throughout  the  summer  to  carry  a  weekly 
bulletin  regarding  Elfie's  health  and  manners  to  the  Lake 
Shore  summer  home,  where  the  Wakehams  sought  relief 
from  the  prostrating  heat  of  the  great  city.  These  week 
ends  at  the  Lake  Shore  home  were  to  Larry  his  sole  and 
altogether  delightful  relief  from  the  relentless  drive  of 
business  that  even  throughout  the  hottest  summer  weather 
knew  neither  let  nor  pause. 

It  became  custom  that  every  Saturday  forenoon  Row- 
ena's  big  car  would  call  at  the  Rookery  Building  and 
carry  off  her  father,  if  he  chanced  to  be  in  town,  and 
Larry  to  the  Lake  Shore  home.  An  hour's  swift  run 
over  the  perfect  macadam  of  the  Lake  Shore  road  that 
wound  through  park  and  boulevard,  past  splendid  sum- 
mer residences  of  Chicago  financial  magnates,  through 
quiet  little  villages  and  by  country  farms,  always  with 
gleams  of  Michigan's  blue-grey  waters,  and  always  with 
Michigan's  exhilarating  breezes  in  their  faces,  would 
bring  them  to  the  cool  depths  of  Birchwood's  shades  and 
silences,  where  for  a  time  the  hustle  and  heat  and  roar 
of  the  big  city  would  be  as  completely  forgotten  as  if  a 
thousand  miles  away.  It  was  early  on  a  breathless  after- 
noon late  in  July  when  from  pavement  and  wall  the  quiv- 
ering air  smote  the  face  as  if  blown  from  an  opened  fur- 
nace that  Rowena  drove  her  car  down  La  Salle  Street  and 


GERMAN  CITIZENSHIP         291 

pulled  up  at  the  Rookery  Building  resolved  to  carry  off 
with  her  as  a  special  treat  "her  men"  for  an  evening 
at  Birchwood. 

"Come  along,  Larry,  it  is  too  hot  to  live  in  town  to- 
day," she  said  as  she  passed  through  the  outer  office 
where  the  young  man  had  his  desk.  "I  am  just  going 
in  to  get  father,  so  don't  keep  me  waiting." 

"Miss  Wakeham,  why  will  you  add  to  the  burdens  of 
the  day  by  breezing  thus  in  upon  us  and  making  us  dis- 
contented with  our  lot.  I  cannot  possibly  accept  your 
invitation  this  afternoon." 

"What?  Not  to-day,  with  the  thermometer  at  ninety- 
four?  Nonsense!"  said  the  young  lady  brusquely.  "You 
look  fit  to  drop." 

"It  is  quite  useless,"  said  Larry  with  a  sigh.  "You  see 
we  have  a  man  in  all  the  way  from  Colorado  to  get  plans 
of  a  mine  which  is  in  process  of  reconstruction.  These 
plans  will  take  hours  to  finish.  The  work  is  pressing,  in 
short  must  be  done  to-day." 

"Now,  look  here,  young  man.  All  work  in  this  office 
is  pressing  but  none  so  pressing  that  it  cannot  pause  at 
my  command." 

"But  this  man  is  due  to  leave  to-morrow." 

"Oh,  I  decline  to  talk  about  it ;  it  is  much  too  hot.  Just 
close  up  your  desk,"  said  the  young  lady,  as  she  swept  on 
to  her  father's  office. 

In  a  short  time  she  returned,  bearing  that  gentleman  in 
triumph  with  her.  "Not  ready?"  she  said.  "Really  you 
are  most  exasperating,  Larry." 

"You  may  as  well  throw  up  your  hands,  Larry.  You'd 
better  knock  off  for  the  day,"  said  Mr.  Wakeham.  "It 
is  really  too  hot  to  do  anything  else  than  surrender." 

"You  see,  it  is  like  this,  sir,"  said  Larry.  "It  is  that 
Colorado  mine  reconstruction  business.  Their  manager, 
Dimock,  is  here.  He  must  leave,  he  says,  to-morrow 
morning.  Mr.  Scread  thinks  he  should  get  these  off  as 
soon  as  possible.  So  it  is  necessary  that  I  stick  to  it  till 
we  get  it  done." 


292  THE  MAJOR 

"How  long  will  it  take?"  said  Mr.  Wakeham. 

"I  expect  to  finish  to-night  some  time.  I  have  already 
had  a  couple  of  hours  with  Dimock  to-day.  He  has  left 
me  tke  data." 

"Well,  I  am  very  sorry,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Wakeham. 
"It  is  a  great  pity  you  cannot  come  with  us,  and  you  look 
rather  fagged.  Dimock  could  not  delay,  eh?" 

"He  says  he  has  an  appointment  at  Kansas  City  which 
he  must  keep." 

"Oh,  it  is  perfect  rubbish,"  exclaimed  Rowena  impa- 
tiently, "and  we  have  a  party  on  to-night.  Your  friend, 
Mr.  Hugh  Raeder,  is  to  be  out,  and  Professor  Schaefer 
and  a  friend  of  his,  and  some  perfectly  charming  girls." 

"But  why  tell  me  these  things  now,  Miss  Wakeham," 
said  Larry,  "when  you  know  it  is  impossible  for  me  to 
come  ?" 

"You  won't  come?" 

"I  can't  come." 

"Come  along  then,  father,"  she  said,  and  with  a  stiff 
little  bow  she  left  Larry  at  his  desk. 

Before  the  car  moved  off  Larry  came  hurrying  out. 
"Here  is  Elfie's  letter,"  he  said.  "Perhaps  Mrs.  Wake- 
ham  would  like  to  see  it."  Miss  Wakeham  was  busy  at 
the  wheel  and  gave  no  sign  of  having  heard  or  seen.  So 
her  father  reached  over  and  took  the  letter  from  him. 
"Do  you  know,"  said  Larry  gravely,  "I  do  not  think  it 
is  quite  so  hot  as  it  was.  I  almost  fancy  I  feel  a  chill." 

"A  chill?"  said  Mr.  Wakeham  anxiously.  "What  do 
you  mean  ?" 

Miss  Wakeham  bit  her  lip,  broke  into  a  smile  and  then 
into  a  laugh.  "Oh,  he's  a  clever  thing,  he  is,"  she  said. 
"I  hope  you  may  have  a  real  good  roast  this  afternoon." 

"I  hope  you  will  call  next  Saturday,"  said  Larry  ear- 
nestly. "It  is  sure  to  be  hot." 

"You  don't  deserve  it  or  anything  else  that  is  good." 

"Except  your  pity.    Think  what  I  am  missing." 

"Get  in  out  of  the  heat,"  she  cried  as  the  car  slipped 
away. 


GERMAN  CITIZENSHIP         293 

For  some  blocks  Miss  Wakeham  was  busy  getting  her 
car  through  the  crush  of  the  traffic,  but  as  she  swung  into 
the  Park  Road  she  remarked,  "That  young  man  takes 
himself  too  seriously.  You  would  think  the  business  be- 
longed to  him." 

"I  wish  to  God  I  had  more  men  in  my  office,"  said  her 
father,  "who  thought  the  same  thing.  Do  you  know, 
young  lady,  why  it  is  that  so  many  greyheads  are  holding 
clerk's  jobs?  Because  clerks  do  not  feel  that  the  business 
is  their  own.  The  careless  among  them  are  working  for 
five  o'clock,  and  the  keen  among  them  are  out  for  number 
one.  Do  you  know  if  that  boy  keeps  on  thinking  that  the 
business  is  his  he  will  own  a  big  slice  of  it  or  something 
better  before  he  quits.  I  confess  I  was  greatly  pleased 
that  you  failed  to  move  him." 

"All  the  same,  he  is  awfully  stubborn,"  said  his  daugh- 
ter. 

"You  can't  bully  him  as  you  do  your  old  dad,  eh?" 

"I  had  counted  on  him  for  our  dinner  party  to-night. 
I  particularly  want  to  have  him  meet  Professor  Schaefer, 
and  now  we  will  have  a  girl  too  many.  It  just  throws 
things  out." 

They  rolled  on  in  silence  for  some  time  through  the 
park  when  suddenly  her  father  said,  "He  may  be  finished 
by  six  o'clock,  and  Michael  could  run  in  for  him." 

At  six  o'clock  Miss  Wakeham  called  Larry  on  the 
'phone.  "Are  you  still  at  it?"  she  enquired.  "And  when 
will  you  be  finished?" 

"An  hour,  I  think,  will  see  me  through,"  he  replied. 

"Then,"  said  Miss  Wakeham,  "a  little  before  seven 
o'clock  the  car  will  be  waiting  at  your  office  door." 

"Hooray!"  cried  Larry.  "You  are  an  angel.  I  will 
be  through." 

At  a  quarter  of  seven  Larry  was  standing  on  the  pave- 
ment, which  was  still  radiating  heat,  and  so  absorbed  in 
watching  for  the  Wakehams'  big  car  that  he  failed  to  no- 
tice a  little  Mercer  approaching  till  it  drew  up  at  his 
side. 


294  THE  MAJOR 

"What,  you,  Miss  Rowena?"  he  cried.  "Your  own 
self?  How  very  lovely  of  you,  and  through  all  this 
heat!" 

"Me,"  replied  the  girl,  "only  me.  I  thought  it  might 
still  be  hot  and  a  little  cool  breeze  would  be  acceptable. 
But  jump  in." 

"Cool  breeze,  I  should  say  so !"  exclaimed  Larry.  "A 
lovely,  cool,  sweet  spring  breeze  over  crocuses  and  vio- 
lets !  But,  I  say,  I  must  go  to  my  room  for  my  clothes." 

"No  evening  clothes  to-night,"  exclaimed  Rowena. 

"Ah,  but  I  have  a  new,  lovely,  cool  suit  that  I  have 
been  hoping  to  display  at  Birchwood.  These  old  things 
would  hardly  do  at  your  dinner  table." 

"We'll  go  around  for  it.  Do  get  in.  Do  you  know, 
I  left  my  party  to  come  for  you,  partly  because  I  was 
rather  nasty  this  afternoon?" 

"You  were  indeed,"  said  Larry.  "You  almost  broke 
my  heart,  but  this  wipes  all  out;  my  heart  is  singing 
again.  That  awfully  jolly  letter  of  Elfie's  this  week 
made  me  quite  homesick  for  the  open  and  for  the  breezes 
of  the  Alberta  foothills." 

"Tell  me  what  she  said,"  said  Rowena,  not  because  she 
wanted  so  much  to  hear  Elfie's  news  but  because  she  loved 
to  hear  him  talk,  and  upon  no  subject  could  Larry  wax 
so  eloquent  as  upon  the  foothill  country  of  Alberta. 
Long  after  they  had  secured  Larry's  new  suit  and  gone 
on  their  way  through  park  and  boulevard,  Larry  con- 
tinued to  expatiate  upon  the  glories  of  Alberta  hills  and 
valleys,  upon  its  cool  breezes,  its  flowing  rivers  and 
limpid  lakes,  and  always  the  western  rampart  of  the  eter- 
nal snow-clad  peaks. 

"And  how  is  the  mine  doing?"  inquired  Rowena,  for 
Larry  had  fallen  silent. 

"The  mine?  Oh,  there's  trouble  there,  I  am  afraid. 
Switzer — you  have  heard  of  Switzer?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  all  about  him  and  his  tragic  disap- 
pointment. He's  the  manager,  isn't  he  ?" 

"The  manager  ?    No,  he's  the  secretary,  but  in  this  case 


GERMAN  CITIZENSHIP         295 

it  means  the  same  thing,  for  he  runs  the  mine.  Well, 
Switzer  wants  to  sell  his  stock.  He  and  his  father  hold 
about  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  between  them.  He 
means  to  resign.  And  to  make  matters  worse,  the  man- 
ager left  last  week.  They  are  both  pulling  out,  and  it 
makes  it  all  the  worse,  for  they  had  just  gone  in  for 
rather  important  extensions.  I  am  anxious  a  bit.  You 
see  they  are  rather  hard  up  for  money,  and  father  raised 
all  he  could  on  his  ranch  and  on  his  mining  stock." 

"How  much  is  involved  ?"  inquired  Rowena. 

"Oh,  not  so  much  money  as  you  people  count  it,  but 
for  us  it  is  all  we  have.  He  raised  some  fifty  thousand 
dollars.  While  the  mine  goes  on  and  pays  it  is  safe 
enough,  but  if  the  mine  quits  then  it  is  all  up  with  us. 
There  is  no  reason  for  anxiety  at  present  as  far  as  the; 
mine  is  concerned,  however.  It  is  doing  splendidly  and 
promises  better  every  day.  But  Switzer's  going  will  em- 
barrass them  terribly.  He  was  a  perfect  marvel  for  work 
and  he  could  handle  the  miners  as  no  one  else  could. 
Most  of  them,  you  know,  are  his  own  people." 

"I  see  you  are  worrying,"  said  Rowena,  glancing  at 
his  face,  which  she  thought  unusually  pale. 

"Not  a  bit.  At  least,  not  very  much.  Jack  is  a  level- 
headed chap — Jack  Romayne,  I  mean — my  brother-in- 
law.  By  the  way,  I  had  a  wire  to  say  that  young  Jack 
had  safely  arrived." 

"Young  Jack?  Oh,  I  understand.  Then  you  are 
Uncle  Larry." 

"I  am.  How  ancient  I  feel!  And  what  a  lot  of  re- 
sponsibility it  lays  upon  me !" 

"I  hope  your  sister  is  quite  well." 

"Everything  fine,  so  I  am  informed.  But  what  was  I 
saying?  Oh,  yes,  Jack  is  a  level-headed  chap  and  his 
brother-in-law,  Waring-Gaunt,  who  is  treasurer  of  the 
company,  is  very  solid.  So  I  think  there's  no  doubt  but 
that  they  will  be  able  to  make  all  necessary  arrange- 
ments." 

"Well,  don't  worry  to-night,"  said  Rowena.    "I  want 


296  THE  MAJOR 

you  to  have  a  good  time.  I  am  particularly  anxious  that 
you  should  meet  and  like  Professor  Schaefer." 

"A  German,  eh  ?"  said  Larry. 

"Yes — that  is,  a  German-American.  He  is  a  metal- 
lurgist, quite  wonderful,  I  believe.  He  does  a  lot  of 
work  for  father,  and  you  will  doubtless  have  a  good  deal 
to  do  with  him  yourself.  And  he  spoke  so  highly  of 
Canada  and  of  Canadians  that  I  felt  sure  you  would  be 
glad  to  meet  him.  He  is  really  a  very  charming  man, 
musical  and  all  that,  but  chiefly  he  is  a  man  of  high  in- 
telligence and  quite  at  the  top  of  his  profession.  He 
asked  to  bring  a  friend  of  his  with  him,  a  Mr.  Meyer, 
whom  I  do  not  know  at  all ;  but  he  is  sure  to  be  interest- 
ing if  he  is  a  friend  of  Professor  Schaefer's.  We  have 
some  nice  girls,  too,  so  we  hope  to  have  an  interesting 
evening." 

The  company  was  sufficiently  varied  to  forbid  monot- 
ony, and  sufficiently  intellectual  to  be  stimulating,  and 
there  was  always  the  background  of  Big  Business.  Larry 
was  conscious  that  he  was  moving  amid  large  ideas  and 
far-reaching  interests,  and  that  though  he  himself  was  a 
small  element,  he  was  playing  a  part  not  altogether  insig- 
nificant, with  a  promise  of  bigger  things  in  the  future. 
Professor  Schaefer  became  easily  the  centre  of  interest  in 
the  party.  He  turned  out  to  be  a  man  of  the  world.  He 
knew  great  cities  and  great  men.  He  was  a  connoisseur 
in  art  and  something  more  than  an  amateur  in  music. 
His  piano  playing,  indeed,  was  far  beyond  that  of  the 
amateur.  But  above  everything  he  was  a  man  of  his 
work.  He  knew  metals  and  their  qualities  as  perhaps 
few  men  in  America,  and  he  was  enthusiastic  in  his  devo- 
tion to  his  profession.  After  dinner,  with  apologies  to 
the  ladies,  he  discoursed  from  full  and  accurate  knowl- 
edge of  the  problems  to  be  met  within  his  daily  work 
and  their  solutions.  He  was  frequently  highly  technical, 
but  to  everything  he  touched  he  lent  a  charm  that  capti- 
vated his  audience.  To  Larry  he  was  especially  gracious. 
-He  was  interested  in  Canada.  He  apparently  had  a  mi- 


GERMAN  CITIZENSHIP         297 

nute  knowledge  of  its  mineral  history,  its  great  deposits 
in  metals,  in  coal,  and  oil,  which  he  declared  to  be 
among  the  richest  in  the  world.  The  mining  operations, 
however,  carried  out  in  Canada,  he  dismissed  as  being 
unworthy  of  consideration.  He  deplored  the  lack  of 
scientific  knowledge  and  the  absence  of  organisation. 

"We  should  do  that  better  in  our  country.  Ah,  if  only 
our  Government  would  take  hold  of  these  deposits,"  he 
exclaimed,  "the  whole  world  should  hear  of  them."  The 
nickel  mining  industry  alone  in  the  Sudbury  district  he 
considered  worthy  of  respect.  Here  he  became  enthusi- 
astic. "If  only  my  country  had  such  a  magnificent  bit 
of  ore!"  he  cried.  "But  such  bungling,  such  childish 
trifling  with  one  of  the  greatest,  if  not  the  very  greatest, 
mining  industries  in  the  world !  To  think  that  the  Gov- 
ernment of  Canada  actually  allows  the  refining  of  that 
ore  to  be  done  outside  of  its  own  country !  Folly,  folly, 
criminal  folly!  But  it  is  all  the  same  in  this  country, 
too.  The  mining  work  in  America  is  unscientific,  slov- 
enly, unorganised,  wasteful.  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  he  con- 
tinued, turning  suddenly  upon  Larry,  "in  your  western 
coal  fields  you  waste  more  in  the  smoke  of  your  coke 
ovens  than  you  make  out  of  your  coal  mines.  Ah,  if  only 
those  wonderful,  wonderful  coal  fields  were  under  the  or- 
ganised and  scientific  direction  of  my  country!  Then 
you  would  see — ah,  what  would  you  not  see!" 

"Your  country?"  said  Hugo  Raeder,  smiling.  "I  un- 
derstood you  were  an  American,  Professor  Schaefer." 

"An  American?  Surely!  I  have  been  eighteen  years 
in  this  country." 

"You  are  a  citizen,  I  presume  ?"  said  Mr.  Wakeham. 

"A  citizen?  Yes.  I  neglected  that  matter  till  recently; 
but  I  love  my  Fatherland." 

"Speaking  of  citizenship,  I  have  always  wanted  to 
know  about  the  Delbriick  Law,  Professor  Schaefer,  in  re- 
gard to  citizenship,"  said  Larry. 

The  professor  hesitated,  "The  Delbriick  Law?" 


298  THE  MAJOR 

"Yes,"  said  Larry.  "How  does  it  affect,  for  instance, 
your  American  citizenship?" 

"Not  at  all,  I  should  say.  Not  in  the  very  least,"  re- 
plied Professor  Schaefer  curtly  and  as  if  dismissing  the 
subject. 

"I"  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  Professor  Schaefer,"  said 
Hugo  Raeder.  "I  was  in  Germany  when  that  law  was 
passed.  It  aroused  a  great  deal  of  interest.  I  have  not 
looked  into  it  myself,  but  on  the  face  of  it  I  should  say 
it  possesses  certain  rather  objectionable  features." 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,  I  assure  you,"  exclaimed  Pro- 
fessor Schaefer.  "It  is  simply  a  concession  to  the  intense, 
but  very  natural  affection  for  the  Fatherland  in  every 
German  heart,  while  at  the  same  time  it  facilitates  citi- 
zenship in  a  foreign  country.  For  instance,  there  are 
millions  of  Germans  living  in  America  who  like  my- 
self shrank  from  taking  the  oath  which  breaks  the  bond 
with  the  Fatherland.  We  love  America,  we  are  Ameri- 
cans, we  live  in  America,  we  work  in  America;  but  nat- 
urally our  hearts  turn  to  Germany,  and  we  cannot  for- 
get our  childhood's  home.  That  is  good,  that  is  worthy, 
that  is  noble — hence  the  Delbriick  Law." 

"But  what  does  it  provide  exactly?"  enquired  Mr. 
Wakeham.  "I  confess  I  never  heard  of  it." 

"It  permits  a  German  to  become  an  American  citizen, 
and  at  the  same  time  allows  him  to  retain  his  connection, 
his  heart  connection,  with  the  Fatherland.  It  is  a  beauti- 
ful law." 

"A  beautiful  law,"  echoed  his  friend,  Mr.  Meyer. 

"Just  what  is  the  connection?"  insisted  Hugo  Raeder. 

"Dear  friend,  let  me  explain  to  you.  It  permits  him  to 
retain  his  place,  his  relations  with  his  own  old  country 
people.  You  can  surely  see  the  advantage  of  that.  For 
instance:  When  I  return  to  Germany  I  find  myself  in 
full  possession  of  all  my  accustomed  privileges.  I  am  no 
stranger.  Ah,  it  is  beautiful!  And  you  see  further  how 
it  establishes  a  new  bond  between  the  two  countries. 
Every  German-American  will  become  a  bond  of  unity 


GERMAN  CITIZENSHIP         299 

between  these  two  great  nations,  the  two  great  coming 
nations  of  the  world." 

"Beautiful,  beautiful,  glorious!"  echoed  Meyer. 

"But  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Larry.  "Are  you  still 
a  citizen  of  Germany?" 

"I  am  an  American  citizen,  and  proud  of  it,"  ex- 
claimed Professor  Schaefer,  dramatically. 

"Ach,  so,  geviss,"  said  Meyer.  "Sure!  an  American 
citizen !" 

"But  you  are  also  a  citizen  of  Germany?"  enquired 
Hugo  Raeder. 

"If  I  return  to  Germany  I  resume  the  rights  of  my 
German  citizenship,  of  course." 

"Beautiful,  beautiful!"  exclaimed  Meyer. 

"Look  here,  Schaefer.  Be  frank  about  this.  Which 
are  you  to-day,  a  citizen  of  Germany  or  of  America  ?" 

"Both,  I  tell  you,"  exclaimed  Schaefer  proudly.  "That 
is  the  beauty  of  the  arrangement." 

"Ah,  a  beautiful  arrangement!"  said  Meyer. 

"What?  You  are  a  citizen  of  another  country  while 
you  claim  American  citizenship?"  said  Raeder.  "You 
can  no  more  be  a  citizen  of  two  countries  at  the  same 
time  than  the  husband  of  two  wives  at  the  same  time." 

"Well,  why  not?"  laughed  Schaefer.  "An  American 
wife  for  America,  and  a  German  wife  for  Germany. 
You  will  excuse  me,"  he  added,  bowing  toward  Mrs. 
Wakeham. 

"Don't  be  disgusting,"  said  Hugo  Raeder.  "Apart 
from  the  legal  difficulty  the  chief  difficulty  about  that 
scheme  would  be  that  whatever  the  German  wife  might 
have  to  say  to  such  an  arrangement,  no  American  wife 
would  tolerate  it  for  an  instant." 

"I  was  merely  joking,  of  course,"  said  Schaefer. 

"But,  Professor  Schaefer,  suppose  war  should  come  be- 
tween Germany  and  America,"  said  Larry. 

"War  between  Germany  and  America — the  thing  is 
preposterous  nonsense,  not  to  be  considered  among  the 
possibilities !" 


300  THE  MAJOR 

"But  as  a  mere  hypothesis  for  the  sake  of  argument, 
what  would  your  position  be?"  persisted  Larry. 

Professor  Schaefer  was  visibly  annoyed.  "I  say  the 
hypothesis  is  nonsense  and  unthinkable,"  he  cried. 

"Come  on,  Schaefer.  you  can't  escape  it  like  that,  you 
know,"  said  Hugo  Raeder.  "By  that  law  of  yours,  where 
would  your  allegiance  be  should  war  arise?  I  am  ask- 
ing what  actually  would  be  your  standing.  Would  you 
be  a  German  citizen  or  an  American  citizen?" 

"The  possibility  does  not  exist,"  said  Professor  Schae- 
fer. 

"Quite  impossible,"  exclaimed  Meyer. 

"Well,  what  of  other  countries  then  ?"  said  Hugo,  pur- 
suing the  subject  with  a  wicked  delight.  His  sturdy 
Americanism  resented  this  bigamous  citizenship.  "What 
of  France  or  Britain?" 

"Ah,"  said  Professor  Schaefer  with  a  sharpening  of 
his  tone.  "That  is  quite  easy." 

"You  would  be  a  German,  eh  ?"  said  Raeder. 

"You  ask  me,"  exclaimed  Professor  Schaefer,  "you 
ask  me  as  between  Germany  and  France,  or  between 
Germany  and  Britain?  I  reply,"  he  exclaimed  with  a 
dramatic  flourish  of  his  hand,  "I  am  a  worshipper  of  the 
life-giving  sun,  not  of  the  dead  moon;  I  follow  the  dawn, 
not  the  dying  day." 

But  this  was  too  much  for  Larry.  "Without  discuss- 
ing which  is  the  sun  and  which  is  the  moon,  about  which 
we  might  naturally  differ,  Professor  Schaefer,  I  want  to 
be  quite  clear  upon  one  point.  Do  I  understand  you  to 
say  that  if  you  were,  say  a  naturalised  citizen  of  Canada, 
having  sworn  allegiance  to  our  Government,  enjoying 
the  full  rights  and  privileges  of  our  citizenship,  you  at 
the  same  time  would  be  free  to  consider  yourself  a  citizen 
of  Germany,  and  in  case  of  war  with  Britain,  you  would 
feel  in  duty  bound  to  support  Germany?  And  is  it  that 
which  the  Delbriick  Law  is  deliberately  drawn  to  per- 
mit you  to  do?" 


301 

"Well  put,  Larry !"  exclaimed  Hugo  Raeder,  to  whom 
the  German's  attitude  was  detestable. 

Professor  Schaefer's  lips  curled  in  an  unpleasant  smile. 
"Canada,  Canadian  citizenship!  My  dear  young  man, 
pardon!  Allow  me  to  ask  you  a  question.  If  Britain 
were  at  war  with  Germany,  do  you  think  it  at  all  likely 
that  Canada  would  allow  herself  to  become  involved  in 
a  European  war?  Canada  is  a  proud,  young,  virile  na- 
tion. Would  she  be  likely  to  link  her  fortunes  with  those 
of  a  decadent  power?  Excuse  me  a  moment,"  checking 
Larry's  impetuous  reply  with  his  hand.  "Believe  me,  we 
know  something  about  these  things.  We  make  it  our 
business  to  know.  You  acknowledge  that  we  know  some- 
thing about  your  mines;  let  me  assure  you  that  there 
is  nothing  about  your  country  that  we  do  not  know. 
Nothing.  Nothing.  We  know  the  feeling  in  Canada. 
Where  would  Canada  be  in  such  a  war?  Not  with  Ger- 
many, I  would  not  say  that.  But  would  she  stand  with 
England?" 

Larry  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Where  would  Canada  be? 
Let  me  tell  you,  Professor  Schaeier,"  shaking  his  finger 
in  the  professor's  face.  "To  her  last  man  and  her  last 
dollar  Canada  would  be  with  the  Empire." 

"Hear,  hear!"  shouted  Hugo  Raeder. 

The  professor  looked  incredulous.  "And  yet,"  he  said 
with  a  sneer,  "one-half  of  your  people  voted  for  Reci- 
procity with  the  United  States." 

"Reciprocity!  And  yet  you  say  you  know  Canada," 
exclaimed  Larry  in  a  tone  of  disgust.  "Do  you  know, 
sir,  what  defeated  Reciprocity  with  this  country?  Not 
hostility  to  the  United  States;  there  is  nothing  but  the 
kindliest  feeling  among  Canadians  for  Americans.  But 
I  will  tell  you  what  defeated  Reciprocity.  It  was  what 
we  might  call  the  ultra  loyal  spirit  of  the  Canadian  peo- 
ple toward  the  Empire.  The  Canadians  were  Empire 
mad.  The  bare  suggestion  of  the  possibility  of  any  peril 
to  the  Empire  bond  made  them  throw  out  Sir  Wilfrid 


302 

Laurier  and  the  Liberal  Party.  That,  of  course,  with 
other  subordinate  causes." 

"I  fancy  our  Mr.  Taft  helped  a  bit,"  said  Hugo  Rae- 
der. 

"Undoubtedly  Mr.  Taft's  unfortunate  remarks  were 
worked  to  the  limit  by  the  Conservative  Party.  But  all 
I  say  is  that  any  suggestion,  I  will  not  say  of  disloyalty, 
but  even  of  indifference,  to  the  Empire  of  Canada  is 
simply  nonsense." 

At  this  point  a  servant  brought  in  a  te1egram  and 
handed  it  to  Mr.  Wakeham.  "Excuse  me,  my  dear,"  he 
said  to  his  wife,  opened  the  wire,  read  it,  and  passed  it  to 
Hugo  Raeder.  "From  your  chief,  Hugo." 

"Much  in  that,  do  you  think,  sir?"  inquired  Hugo, 
passing  the  telegram  back  to  him. 

"Oh,  a  little  flurry  in  the  market  possibly,"  said  Mr. 
Wakeham.  "What  do  you  think  about  that,  Schaefer?" 
Mr.  Wakeham  continued,  handing  him  the  wire. 

Professor  Schaefer  glanced  at  the  telegram.  "My 
God !"  he  exclaimed,  springing  to  his  feet.  "It  is  come, 
it  is  come  at  last !"  He  spoke  hurriedly  in  German  to  his 
friend,  Meyer,  and  handed  him  the  telegram. 

Meyer  read  it.  "God  in  heaven!"  he  cried.  "It  is 
here!"  In  intense  excitement  he  poured  forth  a  tor- 
rent of  interrogations  in  German,  receiving  animated 
replies  from  Professor  Schaefer.  Then  grasping  the  pro- 
fessor's hand  in  both  of  his,  he  shook  it  with  wild  en- 
thusiasm. 

"At  last !"  he  cried.  "At  last !  Thank  God,  our  day 
has  come!" 

Completely  ignoring  the  rest  of  the  company,  the  two 
Germans  carried  on  a  rapid  and  passionate  conversation 
in  their  own  tongue  with  excited  gesticulations,  which  the 
professor  concluded  by  turning  to  his  hostess  and  saying, 
"Mrs.  Wakeham,  you  will  excuse  us.  Mr.  Wakeham, 
you  can  send  us  to  town  at  once?" 

By  this  time  the  whole  company  were  upon  their  feet 
gazing  with  amazement  upon  the  two  excited  Germans. 


GERMAN  CITIZENSHIP        303 

"But  what  is  it?"  cried  Mrs.  Wakeham.  "What  has 
happened?  Is  there  anything  wrong?  What  is  it, 
Professor  Schaefer?  What  is  your  wire  about,  Gar- 
rison ?" 

"Oh,  nothing  at  all,  my  dear,  to  get  excited  about. 
My  financial  agent  wires  me  that  the  Press  will  enounce 
to-morrow  that  Austria  has  presented  an  ultimatum  to 
Servia  demanding  an  answer  within  forty-eight  hours." 

"Oh,  is  that  all,"  she  said  in  a  tone  of  vast  relief. 
"What  a  start  you  all  gave  me.  An  ultimatum  to  Ser- 
via? What  is  it  all  about?" 

"Why,  you  remember,  my  dear,  the  murder  of  the 
Archduke  Ferdinand  about  three  weeks  ago?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember.  I  had  quite  forgotten  it.  Poor 
thing,  how  terrible  it  was!  Didn't  they  get  the  mur- 
derer? It  seems  to  me  they  caught  him." 

"You  will  excuse  us,  Mrs.  Wakeham,"  said  Professor 
Schaefer,  approaching  her.  "We  deeply  regret  leaving 
this  pleasant  party  and  your  hospitable  home,  but  it  is  im- 
perative that  we  go." 

"But,  my  dear  Professor  Schaefer,  to-night?"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Wakeham. 

"Why,  Schaefer,  what's  the  rush?  Are  you  caught  in 
the  market?"  said  Wakeham  with  a  little  laugh.  "You 
cannot  do  anything  to-night  at  any  rate,  you  know.  We 
will  have  you  in  early  to-morrow  morning." 

"No,  no,  to-night,  now,  immediately!"  shouted  Meyer 
in  uncontrollable  excitement. 

"But  why  all  the  excitement,  Schaefer?"  said  Hugo 
Raeder,  smiling  at  him.  "Austria  has  presented  an  ulti- 
matum to  Servia — what  about  it?" 

"What  about  it  ?  Oh,  you  Americans ;  you  are  so  pro- 
vincial. Did  you  read  the  ultimatum?  Do  you  know 
what  it  means  ?  It  means  war !" 

"War!"  cried  Meyer.  "War  at  last!  Thank  God! 
To-night  must  we  in  New  York  become." 

Shaking  hands  hurriedly  with  Mrs.  Wakeham,  and 
with  a  curt  bow  to  the  rest  of  the  company,  Meyer  hur- 


304  THE  MAJOR 

riedly  left  the  room,  followed  by  Professor  Schaefer  and 
Mr.  Wakeham. 

"Aren't  they  funny !"  said  Rowena.  "They  get  so  ex- 
cited about  nothing." 

-"Well,  it  is  hardly  nothing/'  said  Hugo  Raeder.  "Any 
European  war  is  full  of  all  sorts  of  possibilities.  You 
cannot  throw  matches  a.bout  in  a  powder  magazine  with- 
out some  degree  of  danger." 

"May  I  read  the  ultimatum?"  said  Larry  to  Mrs. 
Wakeham,  who  held  the  telegram  in  her  hand. 

"Pretty  stiff  ultimatum,"  said  Hugo  Raeder.  "Read 
it  out,  Larry." 

"Servia  will  have  to  eat  dirt,"  said  Larry  when  he  had 
finished.  "Listen  to  this :  She  must  'accept  the  collab- 
oration in  Servia  of  representatives  of  the  Austro-Hun- 
garian  Government  for  the  consideration  of  the  subver- 
sive movements  directed  against  the  Territorial  integrity 
of  the  Monarchy.'  'Accept  collaboration'  of  the  repre- 
sentatives of  the  Austro-Hungarian  Government  in  this 
purely  internal  business,  mind  you.  And  listen  to  this: 
'Delegates 'of  the  Austro-Hungarian  Government  will 
take  part  in  the  investigation  relating  thereto.'  Austrian 
lawyers  and  probably  judges  investigating  Servian  sub- 
jects in  Servia?  Why,  the  thing  is  impossible." 

"It  is  quite  evident,"  said  Hugo  Raeder,  "that  Austria 
means  war." 

"Poor  little  Servia,  she  will  soon  be  eaten  up,"  said 
Rowena.  "She  must  be  bankrupt  from  her  last  war." 

"But  why  all  this  excitement  on  the  part  of  our  Ger- 
man friends?"  inquired  Mrs.  Wakeham.  "What  has 
Germany  to  do  with  Austria  and  Servia  ?" 

At  this  point  Professor  Schaefer  and  his  friend  re-en- 
tered the  room  ready  for  their  departure. 

"I  was  just  inquiring,"  said  Mrs.  Wakeham,  "how 
this  ultimatum  of  Austria's  to  Servia  can  affect  Ger 
many  particularly." 

"Affect  Germany?"  cried  Professor  Schaefer. 


GERMAN  CITIZENSHIP         305 

"Yes,"  said  Hugo  Raeder,  "what  has  Germany  to  do 
with  the  scrap  unless  she  wants  to  butt  in  ?" 

"Ha !  ha !  My  dear  man,  have  you  read  no  history  of 
the  last  twenty  years?  But  you  Americans  know  noth- 
ing about  history,  nothing  about  anything  except  your 
own  big,  overgrown  country." 

"I  thought  you  were  an  American  citizen,  Schaefer?" 
inquired  Hugo. 

"An  American,"  exclaimed  Schaefer,  "an  American, 
ah,  yes,  certainly;  but  in  Europe  and  in  European  poli- 
tics, a  German,  always  a  German." 

"But  why  should  Germany  butt  in?"  continued  Hugo. 

"Butt  in,  Germany  butt  in?  Things  cannot  be  set- 
tled in  Europe  without  Germany.  Besides,  there  is  Rus- 
sia longing  for  the  opportunity  to  attack." 

"To  attack  Germany  ?" 

"To  attack  Austria  first,  Germany's  ally  and  friend, 
and  then  Germany.  The  trouble  is  you  Americans  do 
not  live  in  the  world.  You  are  living  on  your  own  con- 
tinent here  removed  from  the  big  world,  ignorant  of  all 
world  movements,  the  most  provincial  people  in  all  the 
world.  Else  you  would  not  ask  me  such  foolish  ques- 
tions. This  ultimatum  means  war.  First,  Austria 
against  Servia ;  Russia  will  help  Servia ;  France  will  help 
Russia ;  Germany  will  help  Austria.  There  you  have  the 
beginning  of  a  great  European  war.  How  far  this  con- 
flagration will  spread,  only  God  knows." 

The  car  being  announced,  the  Germans  made  a  hurried 
,  in  their  overpowering  excitement  omitting  the 
courtesy  of  farewells  to  household  and  guests. 

"They  seem  to  be  terribly  excited,  those  Germans," 
said  Miss  Rowena. 

"They  are,"  said  Hugo;  "I  am  glad  I  am  not  a  Ger- 
man. To  a  German  war  is  so  much  the  biggest  thing  in 
life." 

"It  is  really  too  bad,"  said  Mrs.  Wakeham;  "we  shall 
not  have  the  pleasure  of  Professor  Schaefer's  music.  He 
plays  quite  exquisitely.  You  would  all  have  greatly  en- 


306  THE  MAJOR 

joyed  it.  Rowena,  you  might  play  something.  Well, 
for  my  part,"  continued  Mrs.  Wakeham,  settling  herself 
placidly  in  her  comfortable  chair,  "I  am  glad  I  am  an 
American.  Those  European  countries,  it  seems  to  me, 
are  always  in  some  trouble  or  other." 

"I  am  glad  I  am  a  Canadian,"  said  Larry.  "We  are 
much  too  busy  to  think  of  anything  so  foolish  and  use- 
less as  war." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

WAR 

COME,  Jane,  we  have  just  time  to  take  a  look  at  the 
lake  from  the  top  of  the  hill  before  we  get  ready 
for  church,"  said  Ethel  Murray.     "It  will  be  worth  see- 
ing to-day." 

"Me  too,  me  too,"  shrieked  two  wee  girls  in  bare  legs 
^nd  sandals,  clutching  Jane  about  the  legs. 

"All  right,  Isabel ;  all  right,  Helen.  I'll  take  you  with 
me,"  said  Jane.  "But  you  must  let  me  go,  you  know." 

They  all  raced  around  the  house  and  began  to  climb  the 
sheer,  rocky  hill  that  rose  straight  up  from  the  rear. 

"Here,  Jim,  help  me  with  these  kiddies/'  said  Jane 
to  a  lank  lad  of  fifteen,  whom  she  ran  into  at  the  corner 
of  the  house  just  where  the  climb  began. 

Jim  swung  the  younger,  little  Helen,  upon  his  shoulder 
and  together  they  raced  to  the  top,  scrambling,  slipping, 
falling,  but  finally  arriving  there,  breathless  and  trium- 
phant. Before  them  lay  a  bit  of  Canada's  loveliest  lake, 
the  Lake  of  the  Woods,  so-called  from  its  myriad,  heav- 
ily wooded  islands,  that  make  of  its  vast  expanse  a  maze 
of  channels,  rivers  and  waterways.  Calm,  without  a 
ripple,  lay  the  glassy,  sunlit  surface,  each  island,  rock  and 
tree  meeting  its  reflected  image  at  the  water  line,  the 
sky  above  flecked  with  floating  clouds,  making  with  the 
mirrored  sky  below  one  perfect  whole. 

"Oh,  Ethel,  I  had  forgotten  just  how  beautiful  this 
is,"  breathed  Jane,  while  the  rest  stood  silent  looking 
down  upon  the  mirrored  rocks  and  islands,  trees  and  sky. 

Even  the  two  little  girls  stood  perfectly  still,  for  they 
had  been  taught  to  take  the  first  views  from  the  top  in 
silence. 

307 


308  THE  MAJOR 

"Look  at  the  Big  Rock,"  said  Helen.  "They  are  two 
rocks  kissing  each  other." 

"Oh,  you  little  sweetheart,"  said  Jane,  kissing  her. 
"That  is  just  what  they  are  doing.  It  is  not  often  that 
you  get  it  so  perfectly  still  as  this,  is  it,  Jim?" 

"Not  so  very  often.  Sometimes  just  at  sunrise  you 
get  it  this  way." 

"At  sunrise!     Do  you  very  often  see  it  then?" 

"Yes,  he  gets  up  to  catch  fishes,"  said  wee  Helen. 

"Do  you?" 

Jim  nodded.  "Are  you  game  to  come  along  to-mor- 
row morning?" 

"At  what  hour?" 

"Five  o'clock." 

"Don't  do  it,  Jane,"  said  Ethel.  "It  tires  you  for 
the  day." 

"I  will  come,  Jim;  I  would  love  to  come,"  said  Jane. 

For  some  time  they  stood  gazing  down  upon  the  scene 
below  them.  Then  turning  to  the  children  abruptly, 
Ethel  said,  "Now,  then,  children,  you  run  down  and 
get  ready;  that  is,  if  you  are  going  to  church.  Take 
them  down,  Jim." 

"All  right,  Ethel,"  said  Jim.  "See  there,  Jane,"  he 
continued,  "that  neck  of  land  across  the  traverse — that's 
where  the  old  Hudson  Bay  trail  used  to  run  that  goes 
from  the  Big  Lakes  to  Winnipeg.  It's  the  old  war  trail 
of  the  Crees  too.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  have  seen  them 
in  the  old  days?" 

"I  would  run  and  hide,"  said  Isabel,  "so  they  could  not 
see  me." 

"I  would  not  be  afraid,"  said  Helen,  straightening  up 
to  her  full  height  of  six  years.  "I  would  shoot  them 
dead." 

"Poor  things,"  said  Jane,  in  a  pitiful  voice.  "And 
then  their  little  babies  at  home  would  cry  and  cry." 

Helen  looked  distressed.  "I  would  not  shoot  the  ones 
that  had  babies." 

"But  then,"  said  Jane,  "the  poor  wives  would  sit  on 


WAR  309 

the  ground  and  wail  and  wail,  like  the  Indians  we  heard 
the  other  night.  Oh,  it  sounded  very  sad." 

"I  would  not  shoot  the  ones  with  wives  or  babies  or 
anything,"  said  Helen,  determined  to  escape  from  her 
painful  dilemma. 

"Oh,  only  the  boys  and  young  men?"  said  Jane.  "And 
then  the  poor  old  mothers  would  cry  and  cry  and  tear 
their  hair  for  the  boys  who  would  never  come  back." 

Helen  stood  in  perplexed  silence.  Then  she  said 
shyly,  "I  wouldn't  shoot  any  of  them  unless  they  tried 
to  shoot  me  or  Mother  or  Daddy." 

"Or  me,"  said  Jane,  throwing  her  arms  around  the  lit- 
tle girl. 

"Yes,"  said  Helen,  "or  you,  or  anybody  in  our  house." 

"That  seems  a  perfectly  safe  place  to  leave  it,  Helen," 
said  Ethel.  "I  think  even  the  most  pronounced  pacifist 
would  accept  that  as  a  justification  of  war.  I  fancy 
that  is  why  poor  little  Servia  is  fighting  big  bullying 
Austria  to-day.  But  run  down  now;  hurry,  hurry;  the 
launch  will  be  ready  in  a  few  minutes,  and  if  you  are 
not  ready  you  know  Daddy  won't  wait." 

But  they  were  ready  and  with  the  round  dozen,  which 
with  the  visitors  constituted  the  Murray  household  at 
their  island  home,  they  filled  the  launch,  Jim  at  the  wheel. 
It  was  a  glorious  Sunday  morning  and  the  whole  world 
breathed  peace.  Through  the  mazes  of  the  channels 
among  the  wooded  islands  the  launch  made  its  way, 
across  open  traverse,  down  long  waterways  like  rivers 
between  high,  wooded  banks,  through  cuts  and  gaps, 
where  the  waters  boiled  and  foamed,  they  ran,  for  the 
most  part  drinking  in  silently  the  exquisite  and  varied 
beauty  of  lake  and  sky  and  woods.  Silent  they 
were  but  for  the  quiet  talk  and  cheery  laughter 
of  the  younger  portion  of  the  company,  until  they 
neared  the  little  town,  when  the  silence  that  hung  over  the 
lake  and  woods  was  invaded  by  other  launches  outbound 
and  in.  The  Kenora  docks  were  crowded  with  row- 
boats,  sailboats,  canoes  and  launches  of  all  sorts  and 


310  THE  MAJOR 

sizes,  so  that  it  took  some  steering  skill  on  Jim's  part 
to  land  them  at  the  dock  without  bumping  either  them- 
selves or  any  one  else. 

"Oh,  look!"  exclaimed  Isabel,  whose  sharp  eyes  were 
darting  everywhere.  "There's  the  Rushbrooke's  lovely 
new  launch.  Isn't  it  beautiful !" 

"Huh !"  shouted  Helen.  "It  is  not  half  as  pretty  as 
ours." 

"Oh,  hush,  Helen,"  said  the  scandalised  Isabel.  "It  is 
lovely,  isn't  it,  Jane?  And  there  is  Lloyd  Rushbrooke. 
I  think  he's  lovely,  too.  And  who  is  that  with  him, 
Jane — that  pretty  girl?  Oh,  isn't  she  pretty?" 

"That's  Helen  Brookes,"  said  Jane  in  a  low  voice. 

"Oh,  isn't  she  lovely!"  exclaimed  Isabel. 

"Lovely  bunch,  Isabel,"  said  Jim  with  a  grin. 

"I  don't  care,  they  are,"  insisted  Isabel.  "And  there 
is  Mr.  McPherson,  Jane,"  she  added,  her  sharp  eyes 
catching  sight  of  their  Winnipeg  minister  through  the 
crowd.  "He's  coming  this  way.  What  are  the  people 
all  waiting  for,  Jane?" 

The  Reverend  Andrew  McPherson  was  a  tall,  slight, 
dark  man,  straight  but  for  the  student's  stoop  of  his 
shoulders,  and  with  a  strikingly  Highland  Scotch  cast  of 
countenance,  high  cheek  bones,  keen  blue  eyes  set  deep 
below  a  wide  forehead,  long  jaw  that  clamped  firm  lips 
together.  He  came  straight  to  where  Mr.  Murray  and 
Dr.  Brown  were  standing.  • 

"I  have  just  received  from  a  friend  in  Winnipeg  the 
most  terrible  news,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "Germany 
has  declared  war  on  Russia  and  France." 

"War!  War!  Germany!"  exclaimed  the  men  in 
awed,  hushed  voices,  a  startled  look  upon  their  grave 
faces. 

"What  is  it,  James?"  said  Mrs.  Murray. 

Mr.  Murray  repeated  the  news  to  her. 

"Germany  at  war?"  she  said.  "I  thought  it  was  Aus- 
tria and  Servia.  Isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Murray  hastily,  as  if  anx- 


WAR  311 

ious  to  cover  up  his  wife's  display  of  ignorance  of  tfie 
European  situation.  "Austria  has  been  at  war  with  Ser- 
via  for  some  days,  but  now  Germany  has  declared  war 
apparently  upon  France  and  Russia." 

"But  what  has  Germany  to  do  with  it,  or  Russia  either, 
or  France?" 

They  moved  off  together  from  the  docks  toward  the 
church,  discussing  the  ominous  news. 

"Oh,  look,  Jane,"  said  Isabel  once  more.  "There's 
Ramsay  Dunn.  Isn't  he  looking  funny?" 

"Pickied,  I  guess,"  said  Jim,  with  a  glance  at  the  young 
man  who  with  puffed  and  sodden  face  was  gazing  with 
dull  and  stupid  eyes  across  the  lake.  On  catching  sight 
of  the  approaching  party  Ramsay  Dunn  turned  his  back 
sharply  upon  them  and  became  intensely  absorbed  in  the 
launch  at  his  side.  But  Jane  would  not  have  it  thus. 

"Ask  him  to  come  over  this  afternoon,"  she  said  to 
Ethel.  "His  mother  would  like  it." 

"Good  morning,  Ramsay,"  said  Ethel  as  they  passed 
him. 

Ramsay  turned  sharply,  stood  stiff  and  straight,  then 
saluted  with  an  elaborate  bow.  "Good  morning,  Ethel. 
Why,  good  morning,  Jane.  You  down  here  ?  Delighted 
to  see  you." 

"Ramsay,  could  you  come  over  this  afternoon  to  our 
island?"  said  Ethel.  "Jane  is  going  back  this  week." 

"Sure  thing,  Ethel.  Nothing  but  scarlet  fever, 
small-pox,  or  other  contectious  or  infagious,  confagious 
or  intexious — eh,  disease  will  prevent  me.  The  after- 
noon or  the  evening?"  he  added  with  what  he  meant  to 
be  a  most  ingratiating  smile.  "The  late  afternoon  or  the 
early  evening?" 

The  little  girls,  who  had  been  staring  at  him  with  wide, 
wondering  eyes,  began  to  giggle. 

"I'll  be  there,"  continued  Ramsay.  "I'll  be  there,  I'll 
be  there,  when  the  early  evening  cometh,  I'll  be  there." 
He  bowed  deeply  to  the  young  ladies  and  winked  sol- 


312  THE  MAJOR 

eranly  at  Isabel,  who  by  this  time  was  finding  it  quite 
impossible  to  control  her  giggles. 

"Isn't  he  awfully  funny?"  she  said  as  they  moved 
off.  "I  think  he  is  awfully  funny." 

"Funny!"  said  Ethel.     "Disgusting,  I  think." 

"Oh,  Ethel,  isn't  it  terribly  sad?"  said  Jane.  "Poor 
Mrs.  Dunn,  she  feels  so  awfully  about  it.  They  say  he 
is  going  on  these  days  in  a  perfectly  dreadful  way." 

The  little  brick  church  was  comfortably  filled  with 
the  townsfolk  and  with  such  of  the  summer  visitors  as 
had  not  "left  their  religion  behind  them  in  Winnipeg," 
as  Jane  said.  The  preacher  was  a  little  man  whose 
speech  betrayed  his  birth,  and  the  theology  and  delivery 
of  whose  sermon  bore  the  unmistakable  marks  of  his 
Edinburgh  training.  He  discoursed  in  somewhat  for- 
mal but  in  finished  style  upon  the  blessings  of  rest,  with 
obvious  application  to  the  special  circumstances  of  the 
greater  part  of  his  audience  who  had  come  to  this  most 
beautiful  of  all  Canada's  beautiful  spots  seeking  these 
blessings.  To  further  emphasise  the  value  of  their  privi- 
leges, he  contrasted  with  f.heir  lot  the  condition  of  un- 
happy Servia  now  suffering  from  the  horrors  of  war  and 
threatened  with  extinction  by  its  tyrannical  neighbour, 
Austria.  The  war  could  end  only  in  one  way.  In  spite 
of  her  gallant  and  heroic  fight  Servia  was  doomed  to 
defeat.  But  a  day  of  reckoning  would  surely  come,  for 
this  was  not  the  first  time  that  Austria  had  exercised  its 
superior  power  in  an  act  of  unrighteous  tyranny  over 
smaller  states.  The  God  of  righteousness  was  still  rul- 
ing in  his  world,  and  righteousness  would  be  done. 

At  the  close  of  the  service,  while  they  were  singing  the 
final  hymn,  Mr.  McPherson,  after  a  whispered  colloquy 
with  Mr.  Murray,  made  his  way  to  the  pulpit,  where  he 
held  an  earnest  conversation  with  the  minister.  Instead 
of  pronouncing  the  benediction  and  dismissing  the  con- 
gregation when  the  final  "Amen"  had  been  sung,  the 
minister  invited  the  people  to  resume  their  seats,  when 
Mr.  McPherson  rose  and  said, 


WAR 

"Friends,  we  have  just  learned  that  a  great  and  terri- 
ble evil  has  fallen  upon  the  world.  Five  days  ago  the 
world  was  shocked  by  the  announcement  that  Austria 
had  declared  war  upon  Servia.  Through  these  days  the 
powers  of  Europe,  or  at  least  some  of  them,  and  chief 
among  them  Great  Britain,  have  been  labouring  to  local- 
ise the  war  and  to  prevent  its  extension.  To-day  the  sad, 
the  terrible  announcement  is  made  that  Germany  has  de- 
clared war  upon  both  Russia  and  France.  What  an 
hour  may  bring  forth,  we  know  not.  But  not  in  our  day, 
or  in  our  fathers'  day,  have  we  faced  so  great  a  peril  as 
we  face  to-day.  For  we  cannot  forget  that  our  Empire 
is  held  by  close  and  vital  ties  to  the  Republic  of  France 
in  the  entente  cordiale.  Let  us  beseech  Almighty  God 
to  grant  a  speedy  end  to  war  and  especially  to  guide  the 
King's  counsellors  that  they  may  lead  this  Empire  in  the 
way  that  is  wise  and  right  and  honourable." 

In  the  brief  prayer  that  followed  there  fell  upon  the 
people  an  overpowering  sense  of  the  futility  cf  man's 
wisdom,  and  of  the  need  of  the  might  and  wisdom  that 
are  not  man's  but  God's. 

Two  days  later  Mr.  Murray  and  the  children  accom- 
panied Dr.  Brown  and  Jane  to  Kenora  on  their  way  back 
to  the  city.  As  they  were  proceeding  to  the  railway  sta- 
tion they  Were  arrested  by  a  group  that  stood  in  front  of 
the  bulletin  board  upon  which  since  the  war  began  the 
local  newspaper  was  wont  to  affix  the  latest  despatches. 
The  group  was  standing  in  awed  silence  staring  at  the 
bulletin  board  before  them.  Dr.  Brown  pushed  his  way 
through,  read  the  despatch,  looked  around  upon  the 
faces  beside  him,  read  the  words  once  more,  came  back 
to  where  his  party  were  standing  and  stood  silent. 

"What  is  it  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Murray. 

"War,"  said  Dr.  Brown  in  a  husky  whisper.  Then 
clearing  his  throat,  "War — Britain  and  Germany." 

War !  For  the  first  time  in  the  memory  of  living  man 
that  word  was  spoken  in  a  voice  that  stopped  dead  still 
the  Empire  in  the  daily  routine  of  its  life.  War!  That 


314  THE  MAJOR 

word  whispered  in  the  secret  silent  chamber  of  the  man 
whose  chief  glory  had  been  his  title  as  Supreme  War 
Lord  of  Europe,  swift  as  the  lightning's  flash  circled  the 
globe,  arresting  multitudes  of  men  busy  with  their  peace- 
ful tasks,  piercing  the  hearts  of  countless  women  with  a 
new  and  nameless  terror,  paralysing  the  activities  of  na- 
tions engaged  in  the  arts  of  peace,  transforming  into 
bitter  enemies  those  living  in  the  bonds  of  brotherhood, 
and  loosing  upon  the  world  the  fiends  of  hell. 

Mr.  Murray  turned  to  his  boy.  "Jim,"  he  said,  "I 
must  go  to  Winnipeg.  Take  the  children  home  and  tell 
their  mother.  I  shall  wire  you  to-morrow  when  to  meet 
me."  Awed,  solemnised  and  in  silence  they  took  their 
ways. 

Arrived  at  the  railway  station,  Mr.  Murray  changed 
his  mind.  He  was  a  man  clear  in  thought  and  swift  in 
action.  His  first  thought  had  been  of  his  business  as 
being  immediately  affected  by  this  new  and  mighty  fact 
of  war.  Then  he  thought  of  other  and  wider  interests. 

"Let  us  go  back,  Dr.  Brown,"  he  said.  "A  !arge  num- 
ber of  our  business  men  are  at  the  Lake.  I  suppose  half 
of  our  Board  of  Trade  are  down  here.  We  can  reach 
them  more  easily  here  than  any  place  else,  and  it  is  im- 
portant that  we  should  immediately  get  them  together. 
Excuse  me  while  I  wire  to  my  architect.  I  must  stop 
that  block  of  mine." 

They  returned  together  to  the  launch.  On  their  way 
back  to  their  island  they  called  to  see  Mr.  McPherson. 
"You  were  right,"  was  Mr.  Murray's  greeting  to  him. 
"It  has  come;  Britain  has  declared  war." 

Mr.  McPherson  stood  gazing  at  him  in  solemn  silence. 
"War,"  he  said  at  length.  "We  are  really  in." 

"Yes,  you  were  right,  Mr.  McPherson,"  said  Dr. 
Brown.  "I  could  not  believe  it;  I  cannot  believe  it  yet. 
Why  we  should  have  gone  into  this  particular  quarrel, 
for  the  life  of  me  I  cannot  understand." 

"I  was  afraid  from  the  very  first,"  said  McPherson, 


WAR  315 

"and  when  once  Russia  and  France  were  in  I  knew  that 
Britain  could  not  honourably  escape." 

As  they  were  talking  together  a  launch  went  swiftly 
by.  "That's  the  Rushbrooke's  launch,"  said  Jim. 

Mr.  Murray  rushed  out  upon  the  pier  and,  waving  his 
hand,  brought  it  to  a  halt  and  finally  to  the  dock.  "Have 
you  heard  the  news?"  he  said  to  the  lady  who  sat  near 
the  stern.  "Britain  has  declared  war." 

"Oh,"  replied  Mrs.  Rushbrooke,  "why  on  earth  has 
she  done  that?  It  is  perfectly  terrible." 

"Terrible,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  McPherson.  "But  we 
must  face  it.  It  changes  everything  in  life — business, 
society,  home,  everything  will  immediately  feel  the  effect 
of  this  thing." 

"Oh,  Mr.  McPherson,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Rushbrooke, 
"I  can  hardly  see  how  it  will  quite  change  everything  for 
us  here  in  Canada.  For  instance,"  she  added  with  a  gay 
laugh,  "I  do  not  see  that  it  will  change  our  bonfire  to- 
night. By  the  way,  I  see  you  are  not  gone,  Dr.  Brown. 
You  and  Jane  will  surely  come  over;  and,  Mr.  Murray, 
you  will  bring  your  young  people  and  Mrs.  Murray ;  and, 
Mr.  McPherson,  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  come.  It  is 
going  to  be  a  charming  evening  and  you  will  see  a  great 
many  of  your  friends.  I  think  a  bonfire  on  one  of  the 
islands  makes  a  very  pretty  sight." 

"I  am  not  sure  whether  I  can  take  the  time,  Mrs. 
Rushbrooke,"  said  Mr.  Murray.  "I  had  thought  of  see- 
ing a  number  of  our  business  men  who  are  down  here 
at  the  Lake." 

"Oh,  can't  you  leave  business  even  while  you  are  here? 
You  really  ought  to  forget  business  during  your  holi- 
days, Mr.  Murray." 

"I  mean  in  relation  to  the  war,"  said  Mr.  Murray. 

"Good  gracious,  what  can  they  possibly  do  about  the 
war  down  here?  But  if  you  want  to  see  them  they  will 
all  be  with  us  to-night.  So  you  had  better  come  along. 
But  we  shall  have  to  hurry,  Lloyd;  I  have  a  lot  of  things 


316  THE  MAJOR 

to  do  and  a  lot  of  people  to  feed.  We  have  got  to  live, 
haven't  we?"  she  added  as  the  launch  got  under  way. 

"Got  to  live,"  said  Mr.  McPherson  after  they  had 
gone.  "Ah,  even  that  necessity  has  been  changed.  The 
necessity  for  living,  which  I  am  afraid  most  of  us  have 
considered  to  be  of  first  importance,  has  suddenly  given 
place  to  another  necessity." 

"And  that?"  said  Mr.  Murray. 

"The  necessity  not  to  live,  but  to  do  our  duty.  Life 
has  become  all  at  once  a  very  simple  thing." 

"Well,  we  have  got  to  keep  going  in  the  meantime  at 
any  rate,"  said  Mr.  Murray. 

"Going,  yes;  but  going  where?"  said  Mr.  McPherson. 
"All  roads  now,  for  us,  lead  to  one  spot." 

"And  that  spot?"  said  Mr.  Murray. 

"The  battlefield." 

"Why,  Mr.  McPherson,  we  must  not  lose  our  heads; 
we  must  keep  sane  and  reasonable.  Eh,  Doctor?" 

"I  confess  that  this  thing  has  completely  stunned  me," 
said  Dr.  Brown.  "You  see  I  could  not  believe,  I  would 
not  believe  that  war  was  possible  in  our  day.  I  would 
not  believe  you,  Mr.  McPherson.  I  thought  you  had 
gone  mad  on  this  German  scare.  But  you  were  right. 
My  God,  I  can't  get  my  bearings  yet;  we  are  really  at 
war!" 

"God  grant  that  Canada  may  see  its  duty  clearly,"  said 
Mr.  McPherson.  "God  make  us  strong  to  bear  His 
will." 

They  hurried  back  to  their  island,  each  busy  with  his 
thoughts,  seeking  to  readjust  life  to  this  new  and  horrible 
environment. 

Mrs.  Murray  met  them  at  the  dock.  "You  are  back, 
Dr.  Brown,"  she  cried.  "Did  you  forget  something? 
We  are  glad  to  see  you  at  any  rate."  Then  noticing  the 
men's  faces,  she  said,  "What  is  the  matter,  James?  Is 
there  anything  wrong?" 

"We  bring  terrible  news,  Mother,"  he  said.  "We  are 
at  war." 


WAR  317 

Mrs.  Murray's  mind,  like  her  husband's,  moved 
swiftly.  She  was  a  life  partner  in  the  fullest  sense.  In 
business  as  in  the  home  she  shared  his  plans  and  pur- 
poses. "What  about  the  block,  James?"  she  asked. 

"I  wired  Eastwood,"  he  replied,  "to  stop  that." 

"What  is  it,  Mother?"  inquired  Isabel,  who  stood  upon 
the  dock  clinging  to  her  mother's  dress,  and  who  saw  in 
the  grave  faces  about  her  signs  of  disaster. 

"Hush,  dear,"  said  her  mother.  "Nothing  that  you 
can  understand."  She  would  keep  from  her  children 
this  horror  as  long  as  she  could. 

At  lunch  in  the  midst  of  the  most  animated  conversa- 
tion the  talk  would  die  out,  and  all  would  be  busy  fitting 
their  lives  to  war.  Like  waves  ever  deepening  in  volume 
and  increasing  in  force,  the  appalling  thought  of  war 
beat  upon  their  minds.  After  lunch  they  sat  together 
in  the  screened  veranda  talking  quietly  together  of  the 
issues,  the  consequences  to  them  and  to  their  community, 
to  their  country,  and  to  the  world  at  large,  of  this  thing 
that  had  befallen  them.  They  made  the  amazing  discov- 
ery that  they  were  almost  entirely  ignorant  of  every- 
thing that  had  to  do  with  war,  even  the  relative  military 
strength  of  the  belligerent  nations.  One  thing  like  a 
solid  back  wall  of  rock  gave  them  a  sense  of  security — 
the  British  Navy  was  still  supreme. 

"Let's  see,  did  they  cut  down  the  Navy  estimates  dur- 
ing the  last  Parliament  ?  I  know  they  were  always  talk- 
ing of  reduction,"  inquired  Mr.  Murray. 

"I  am  afraid  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  said  Dr. 
Brown.  "Last  week  I  would  have  told  you  'I  hope  so'; 
to-day  I  profoundly  hope  not.  Jane,  you  ought  to  know 
about  this.  Jane  is  the  war  champion  in  our  family,"  he 
added  with  a  smile. 

"No,  there  has  been  no  reduction;  Winston  Churchill 
has  carried  on  his  programme.  He  wanted  to  halt  the 
building  programme,  you  remember,  but  the  Germans 
would  not  agree.  So  I  think  the  Navy  is  quite  up  to 


318  THE  MAJOR 

the  mark.  But,  of  course,"  she  added,  "the  German 
Navy  is  very  strong  too." 

"Ah,  I  believe  you  are  right,  Jane,"  said  Dr.  Brown. 
"How  completely  we  were  all  hoodwinked.  I  cannot 
believe  that  we  are  actually  at  war.  Our  friend  Ro- 
mayne  was  right.  By  the  way,  what  about  Romayne, 
Jane?" 

"Who  is  he?"  inquired  Mr.  Murray. 

"Romayne?"  said  Dr.  Brown.  "Oh,  he's  a  great 
friend  of  ours  in  the  West.  He  married  a  sister  of 
young  Gwynne,  you  know.  He  was  an  attache  of  the 
British  Embassy  in  Berlin,  and  was,  as  we  thought,  quite 
mad  on  the  subject  of  preparation  for  war.  He  and 
Jane  hit  it  off  tremendously  last  autumn  when  we  were 
visiting  the  Gwynnes.  Was  he  not  an  officer  in  the 
Guards  or  something,  Jane?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Jane,  fear  leaping  into  her  eyes.  "Oh, 
Papa,  do  you  think  he  will  have  to  go?  Surely  he  would 
not." 

"What?  Go  back  to  England?"  said  Dr.  Brown.  "I 
hardly  think  so.  I  do  not  know,  but  perhaps  he  may." 

"Oh,  Papa!"  exclaimed  Jane,  the  quick  tears  in  her 
eyes.  "Think  of  his  wife  and  little  baby!" 

"My  God !"  exclaimed  Dr.  Brown.  "It  is  war  that  is 
upon  us." 

A  fresh  wave  of  horror  deeper  than  any  before  swept 
their  souls.  "Surely  he  won't  need  to  go,"  he  said  after 
a  pause. 

"But  his  regiment  will  be  going,"  said  Jane,  whose  face 
had  become  very  pale  and  whose  eyes  were  wide  with 
horror.  "His  regiment  will  be  going  and,"  she  added, 
"he  will  go  too."  The  tears  were  quietly  running  down 
her  face.  She  knew  Jack  Romayne  and  she  had  the 
courage  to  accept  the  truth  which  as  yet  her  father  put 
from  his  mind. 

Dumb  they  sat,  unschooled  in  language  fitted  to  deal 
with  the  tides  of  emotion  that  surged  round  this  new  and 


WAR  319 

overwhelming  fact  of  war.  Where  next  would  this 
dread  thing  strike  ? 

"Canada  will  doubtless  send  some  troops/'  said  Dr. 
Brown.  "We  sent  to  South  Africa,  let  me  see,  was  it 
five  thousand?" 

"More,  I  think,  Papa,"  said  Jane. 

"We  will  send  twice  or  three  times  that  number  this 
time,"  said  Mr.  Murray. 

And  again  silence  fell  upon  them.  They  were  each 
busy  with  the  question  who  would  go.  Swiftly  their 
minds  ran  over  the  homes  of  their  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances. 

"Well,  Doctor,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  with  a  great  effort 
at  a  laugh,  "you  can't  send  your  boy  at  any  rate." 

"No,"  said  Dr.  Brown.  "But  if  my  girl  had  been  a 
boy,  I  fear  I  could  not  hold  her.  Eh,  Jane?"  But  Jane 
only  smiled  a  very  doubtful  smile  in  answer. 

"We  may  all  have  to  go,  Doctor,"  said  Mr.  Murray. 
"If  the  war  lasts  long  enough." 

"Nonsense,  James,"  said  his  wife  with  a  quick  glance 
at  her  two  little  girls.  Her  boy  was  fifteen.  Thank 
God,  she  would  not  have  to  face  the  question  of  his  duty 
in  regard  to  war.  "They  would  not  be  taking  old  men 
like  you,  James,"  she  added. 

Mr.  Murray  laughed  at  her.  "Well,  hardly,  I  sup- 
pose, my  dear,"  he  replied.  "I  rather  guess  we  won't  be 
allowed  to  share  the  glory  this  time,  Doctor." 

Dr.  Brown  sat  silent  for  a  few  moments,  then  said 
quietly,  "The  young  fellows,  of  course,  will  get  the  first 
chance." 

"Oh,  let's  not  talk  about  it,"  said  Ethel.  "Come, 
Jane,  let's  go  exploring." 

Jane  rose. 

"And  me,  too,"  cried  Isabel. 

"And  me,"  cried  Helen. 

Ethel  hesitated.  "Let  them  come,  Ethel,"  said  Jane. 
"We  shall  go  slowly." 

An  exploration  of  the  island  was  always  a  thing  of 


320  THE  MAJOR 

unmixed  and  varied  delight.  There  were  something  over 
twenty-five  acres  of  wooded  hills  running  up  to  bare 
rocks,  ravines  deep  in  shrub  and  ferns,  and  lower  levels 
thick  with  underbrush  and  heavy  timber.  Every  step 
of  the  way  new  treasures  disclosed  themselves,  ferns  and 
grasses,  shrubs  and  vines,  and  everywhere  the  wood 
flowers,  shy  and  sweet.  Everywhere,  too,  on  fallen  logs, 
on  the  grey  rocks,  and  on  the  lower  ground  where  the 
aromatic  balsams  and  pines  stood  silent  and  thick,  were 
mosses,  mosses  of  all  hues  and  depths.  In  the  sunlit 
open  spaces  gorgeous  butterflies  and  gleaming  dragon 
flies  fluttered  and  darted,  bees  hummed,  and  birds  sang 
and  twittered.  There  the  children's  voices  were  mingled 
in  cheery  shouts  and  laughter  with  the  other  happy 
sounds  that  filled  the  glades.  But  when  they  came  to 
the  dark  pines,  solemn  and  silent  except  when  the  wind 
moved  in  their  tasselled  tops  with  mysterious,  mournful 
whispering,  the  children  hushed  their  voices  and  walked 
softly  upon  the  deep  moss. 

"It  is  like  being  in  church,"  said  Helen,  her  little  soul 
exquisitely  sensitive  to  the  mystic,  fragrant  silences  and 
glooms  that  haunted  the  pine  grove. 

On  a  sloping  hillside  under  the  pines  they  lay  upon 
the  mossy  bed,  the  children  listening  for  the  things  that 
lived  in  these  shadowy  depths. 

"They  are  all  looking  at  us,"  said  Isabel  in  a  voice  of 
awed  mystery.  "Lots  and  lots  of  eyes  are  just  looking, 
looking,  and  looking." 

"Why,v  Isabel,  you  give  me  the  creeps,"  laughed  Jane. 

"Whisht !  They'll  hear  you,"  said  Isabel,  darting  swift 
.glances  among  the  trees. 

"The  dear  things,"  said  Jane.  "They  would  love  to 
play  with  you  if  they  only  knew  how."  This  was  quite  a 
new  idea  to  the  children.  Hitherto  the  shy  things  had 
been  more  associated  with  fear  than  with  play.  "They 
would  love  to  play  tag  with  you,"  continued  Jane,  "round 
these  trees,  if  you  could  only  coax  them  out.  They  are 
so  shy." 


WAR  321 

Stealthily  the  children  began  to  move  among  the 
bushes,  alert  for  the  watching  eyes  and  the  shy  faces  of 
the  wild  things  that  made  their  homes  in  these  dark 
dwellings.  The  girls  sat  silent,  looking  out  through  the 
interlacing  boughs  upon  the  gleam  of  the  lake  below. 
They  dearly  loved  this  spot.  It  was  a  favourite  haunt 
with  them,  the  very  spot  for  confidence,  and  many  a 
happy  hour  had  they  spent  together  here.  To-day  they 
sat  without  speech ;  there  was  nothing  that  they  cared  to 
talk  about.  It  was  only  yesterday  in  this  same  place 
they  had  talked  over  all  things  under  the  sun.  They  had 
exchanged  with  each  other  their  stores  of  kindly  gossip 
about  all  their  friends  and  their  friends'  friends.  Only 
yesterday  it  was  that  Ethel  for  the  twentieth  time  had 
gone  over  with  Jane  all  the  intricately  perplexing  and 
delightful  details  in  regard  to  her  coming-out  party  next 
winter.  All  the  boys  and  girls  were  to  be  invited,  and 
Jane  was  to  help  with  the  serving.  It  was  only  yester- 
day that  in  a  moment  of  quite  unusual  frankness  Ethel 
had  read  snatches  of  a  letter  which  had  come  from  Mac- 
leod,  who  was  out  in  a  mission  field  in  Saskatchewan. 
How  they  had  laughed  together,  all  in  a  kindly  way,  over 
the  solemn,  formal  phrases  of  the  young  Scotch  Cana- 
dian missionary,  Ethel  making  sport  of  his  solemnity 
and  Jane  warmly  defending  him.  How  they  had  talked 
over  the  boys'  affairs,  as  girls  will  talk,  and  of  their  vari- 
ous loves  and  how  they  fared,  and  of  the  cruelties  prac- 
tised upon  them.  And  last  of  all  Ethel  had  talked  of 
Larry,  Jane  listening  warily  the  while  and  offering  an  oc- 
casional bit  of  information  to  keep  the  talk  going.  And 
all  of  this  only  yesterday;  not  ten  years  ago,  or  a  year 
ago,  but  yesterday!  And  to-day  not  a  word  seemed 
possible.  The  world  had  changed  over  night.  How 
different  from  that  unshaded,  sunny  world  of  yesterday! 
How  sunny  it  was  but  yesterday!  Life  now  was  a  thing 
of  different  values.  Ah,  that  was  it.  The  values  were 
all  altered.  Things  big  yesterday  had  shrunk  almost 
to  the  point  of  disappearance  to-day.  Things  that  yes- 


322  THE  MAJOR 

terday  seemed  remote  and  vague,  to-day  filled  their  hori- 
zon, for  some  of  them  dark  enough.  Determined  to  ig- 
nore that  gaunt  Spectre  standing  there  in  the  shadow 
silent  and  grim,  they  would  begin  to  talk  on  themes  good 
yesterday  for  an  hour's  engrossing  conversation,  but  be- 
fore they  were  aware  they  had  forgotten  the  subject  of 
their  talk  and  found  themselves  sitting  together  dumb 
and  looking  out  upon  the  gleam  of  the  waters,  thinking, 
thinking  and  ever  thinking,  while  nearer  and  ever  more 
terrible  moved  the  Spectre  of  War.  It  was  like  the  fall- 
ing of  night  upon  their  world.  From  the  landscape 
things  familiar  and  dear  were  blotted  out,  and  in  their 
place  moved  upon  them  strange  shapes  unreal  and  hor- 
rible. 

At  length  they  gave  it  up,  called  the  children  and  went 
back  to  the  others.  At  the  dock  they  found  a  launch 
filled  with  visitors  bringing  news — great  news  and  glori- 
ous. A  big  naval  battle  had  been  fought  in  the  North 
Sea!  Ten  British  battleships  had  been  sunk,  but  the 
whole  German  fleet  had  been  destroyed!  For  the  first 
time  war  took  on  some  colour.  Crimson  and  purple  and 
gold  began  to  shoot  through  the  sombre  black  and  grey. 
A  completely  new  set  of  emotions  filled  their  hearts,  a 
new  sense  of  exultation,  a  new  pride  in  that  great  British 
Navy  which  hitherto  had  been  a  mere  word  in  a  history 
book,  or  in  a  song.  The  children  who,  after  their  man- 
ner, were  quickest  to  catch  and  to  carry  on  to  their  ut- 
most limits  the  emotions  of  the  moment,  were  jubilantly 
triumphant.  Some  of  them  were  carrying  little  Union 
Jacks  in  their  hands.  For  the  first  time  in  their  lives 
that  flag  became  a  thing  of  pride  and  power,  a  thing 
to  shout  for.  It  stood  for  something  invisible  but  very 
real.  Even  their  elders  were  not  insensible  to  that 
something.  Hitherto  they  had  taken  that  flag  for 
granted.  They  had  hung  it  out  of  their  windows  on 
Empire  Day  or  on  Dominion  Day  as  a  patriotic  symbol, 
but  few  of  them  would  have  confessed,  except  in  a  half- 
shamed,  apologetic  way,  to  any  thrill  at  the  flapping  of 


WAR  323 

that  bit  of  bunting.  They  had  shrunk  from  a  display 
of  patriotic  emotion.  They  were  not  like  their  Ameri- 
can cousins,  who  were  ever  ready  to  rave  over  Old  Glory. 
That  sort  of  emotional  display  was  un-Canadian,  un- 
British.  But  to-day  somehow  the  flag  had  changed. 
The  flag  had  changed  because  it  fluttered  in  a  new  world, 
a  new  light  fell  upon  it,  the  light  of  battle.  It  was  a  war 
flag  to-day.  Men  were  fighting  under  it,  were  fighting 
for  all  it  represented,  were  dying  under  its  folds,  and 
proudly  and  gladly. 

"And  all  the  men  will  go  to  fight,  your  father  and  my 
father,  and  all  the  big  boys,"  Ethel  heard  a  little  friend 
confide  to  Isabel. 

"Hush,  Mabel,"  said  Ethel  sharply.     "Don't  be  silly." 

But  the  word  had  been  spoken  and  as  a  seed  it  fell 
upon  fertile  soil.  The  launch  went  off  with  the  children 
waving  their  flags  and  cheering.  And  again  upon  those 
left  upon  the  dock  the  shadow  settled  heavier  than  be- 
fore. That  was  the  way  with  that  shadow.  It  was  al- 
ways heavier,  thicker,  more  ominous  after  each  interlude 
of  relief. 

It  was  the  same  at  the  bonfire  in  the  evening  at  the 
Rushbrookes'.  The  island  was  a  fairy  picture  of  min- 
gling lights  and  shadows.  As  the  flaming  west  grew  grey, 
the  pale  silver  of  the  moon,  riding  high  and  serene,  fell 
upon  the  crowding,  gaily  decked  launches  that  thronged 
the  docks  and  moored  to  the  shore;  upon  the  dark  bal- 
sams and  silver  birches  hung  with  parti-coloured  gaudy 
Chinese  lanterns;  upon  the  groups  of  girls,  fair  and 
sweet  in  their  white  summer  camping  frocks,  and  young 
men  in  flannels,  their  bare  necks  and  arms  showing 
brown  and  strong;  upon  little  clusters  of  their  fathers 
and  mothers  gravely  talking  together.  From  the  ver- 
anda above,  mingling  with  the  laughing,  chattering 
voices,  the  alluring  strains  of  the  orchestra  invited  to 
waltz,  or  fox  trot.  As  the  flame  died  from  the  western 
sky  and  the  shadows  crept  down  from  the  trees,  the  bon- 
fire was  set  alight.  As  the  flame  leaped  high  the  soft. 


324  THE  MAJOR 

strains  of  the  orchestra  died  away.  Then  suddenly, 
clear,  full  and  strong,  a  chord  sounded  forth,  another, 
and  then  another.  A  hush  fell  upon  the  chattering, 
laughing  crowd.  Then  as  they  caught  the  strain  men 
lolling  upon  the  ground  sprang  to  their  feet;  lads  stood 
at  attention. 

"Send  him  victorious," 

some  one  sang  timidly,  giving  words  to  the  music.  In 
one  instant  a  hundred  throats  were  wide  open  singing  the 
words : 

"Happy  and  glorious, 

Long  to  reign  over  us, 

God  save  our  King." 

Again  the  chords  sounded  and  at  once  the  verse  from  the 
first  was  sung  again. 

"God  save  our  gracious  King, 
Long  live  our  noble  King, 
God  save  our  King, 
Send  him  victorious, 
Happy  and  glorious, 
Long  to  reign  over  us, 
God  save  our  King." 

As  the  last  note  died  Ramsay  Dunn  leaped  upon  a  huge 
boulder,  threw  up  his  hand  and  began, 

"In  days  of  yore,  from  Britain's  shore." 

A  yell  greeted  him,  sudden,  fierce,  triumphant,  drowned 
his  voice,  then  ceased!  And  again  from  a  hundred 
throats  of  men  and  women,  boys  and  girls,  the  words 
rang  out, 

"There  may  it  wave,  our  boast  and  pride, 
And  joined  in  love  together, 


WAR  325 

The  thistle,  shamrock,  rose  entwine, 
The  Maple  Leaf  forever." 

Again  and  again  and  once  again  they  followed  Ramsay 
in  the  quick,  shrill  Canadian  cheer  that  was  to  be  heard 
in  after  days  in  places  widely  different  and  far 'remote 
from  that  gay,  moonlit,  lantern-decked,  boat-thronged, 
water-lapped  island  in  that  far  northern  Canadian  lake. 
Following  the  cheers  there  came  stillness.  Men  looked 
sheepishly  at  each  other  as  if  caught  in  some  silly  prank. 
Then  once  more  the  Spectre  drew  near.  But  this  time 
they  declined  not  to  look,  but  with  steady,  grave,  apprais- 
ing eyes  they  faced  The  Thing,  resolute  to  know  the 
worst,  and  in  quiet  undertones  they  talked  together  of 
War. 

The  bonfire  roared  gloriously  up  through  the  dark 
night,  throwing  far  gleams  out  upon  the  moonlit  waters 
in  front  and  upon  the  dark  woods  behind.  The  people 
gathered  about  the  fire  and  disposed  themselves  in  groups 
upon  the  sloping,  grassy  sward  under  the  trees,  upon  the 
shelving  rocks  and  upon  the  sandy  shore. 

But  Mr.  Murray  had  business  on  hand.  In  company 
with  Dr.  Brown  and  the  minister,  Mr.  McPherson,  he 
sought  his  host.  "Would  it  be  possible,  Mr.  Rush- 
brooke,"  he  said,  "to  gather  a  number  of  business 
men  here  together?" 

"What  for?"  inquired  Rushbrooke. 

"Well,  I  may  be  all  wrong,"  said  Mr.  Murray  apolo- 
getically, "but  I  have  the  feeling  that  we  ought  without 
delay  to  discuss  what  preliminary  steps  should  be  taken 
to  meet  with  the  critical  conditions  brought  on  by  the 
war." 

"But,  Mr.  Murray,"  cried  Mrs.  Rushbrooke,  who  was 
standing  by  her  husband's  side,  "they  are  all  so  happy 
it  would  seem  a  great  pity  to  introduce  this  horrible  thing 
at  such  a  time." 

"Do  you  really  think  it  necessary,  Murray?"  said  Mr. 
Rushbrooke,  who  was  an  older  man  than  Mr.  Murray, 


326  THE  MAJOR 

and  who  was  unwilling  to  accede  to  him  any  position  of 
dominance  in  the  business  world  of  Winnipeg.  "There's 
really  nothing  we  can  do.  It  seems  to  me  that  we  must 
keep  our  heads  and  as  far  as  possible  prevent  undue  ex- 
citement and  guard  against  panic." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,  Mr.  Rushbrooke.  The 
thought  in  my  mind  was  that  we  ought  to  get  a  meeting 
together  in  Winnipeg  soon.  But  everybody  is  away.  A 
great  many  are  here  at  the  Lake;  it  seemed  a  good  op- 
portunity to  make  some  preliminary  arrangement." 

"My  dear  Mr.  Murray,"  said  Mrs.  Rushbrooke,  "I 
cannot  help  feeling  that  you  take  this  too  seriously,  be- 
sides there  can  hardly  be  need  for  such  precipitate  action. 
Of  course,  we  are  at  war,  and  Canada  will  do  her  part, 
but  to  introduce  such  a  horrible  theme  in  a  company  of 
young  people  seems  to  me  to  be  somehow  out  of  place." 

"Very  well,  Mrs.  Rushbrooke,  if  you  say  so.  I  have 
no  desire  to  intrude,"  said  Mr.  Murray. 

"But,  Mr.  Rushbrooke,  the  thing  has  to  be  faced,"  in- 
terposed Mr.  McPherson.  "We  cannot  shut  our  eyes  to 
the  fact  of  war,  and  this  is  the  supreme  fact  in  our  na- 
tional life  to-day.  Everything  else  is  secondary." 

"Oh,  I  do  not  agree  with  you,  Mr.  McPherson,"  said 
Mrs.  Rushbrooke,  taking  the  word  out  of  her  husband's 
mouth.  "Of  course  war  is  terrible  and  all  that,  but  men 
must  do  their  work.  The  Doctor  here  must  continue  to 
look  after  his  sick,  Mr.  Murray  has  his  business,  you 
must  care  for  your  congregation." 

"I  do  not  know  about  that,  Mrs.  Rushbrooke,"  said  the 
minister.  "I  do  not  know  about  that  at  all." 

"Why,  Mr.  McPherson,  you  surprise  me!  Must  not 
my  husband  attend  to  his  business,  must  not  the  Doctor 
look  after  his  patients?" 

A  number  of  men  had  gathered  about  during  the 
course  of  the  conversation.  "No,"  said  Mr.  McPherson, 
his  voice  ringing  out  in  decided  tones.  "There  is  only 
one  'must'  for  us  now,  and  that  is  War.  For  the  Em- 


WAR  327 

pire,  for  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  Canada,  the  first 
thing,  and  by  comparison  the  only  thing,  is  War." 

That  dread  word  rang  out  sharp,  insistent,  penetrating 
through  the  quiet  hum  of  voices  rising  from  the  groups 
about  the  fire.  By  this  time  a  very  considerable  number 
of  men  present  had  joined  themselves  to  the  group  about 
the  speakers. 

"Well,  Mr.  Murray,"  said  Mr.  Rushbrooke,  with  a 
laugh,  "it  seems  to  me  that  we  cannot  help  it  very  well. 
If  you  wish  to  discourse  upon  the  war,  you  have  your 
audience  and  you  have  my  permission." 

"It  is  not  my  intention  to  discourse  upon  the  war,  Mr. 
Rushbrooke,  but  with  your  permission  I  will  just  tell 
our  friends  here  how  my  mind  has  worked  since  learn- 
ing this  terrible  news  this  morning.  My  first  impulse 
was  to  take  the  first  train  to  Winnipeg,  for  I  know  that  it 
will  be  necessary  for  me  to  readjust  my  business  to  the 
new  conditions  created  by  war.  My  second  thought  was 
that  there  were  others  like  me;  that,  in  fact,  the  whole 
business  public  of  Winnipeg  would  be  similarly  affected. 
I  felt  the  need  of  counsel  so  that  I  should  make  no 
mistake  that  would  imperil  the  interests  of  others.  I  ac- 
cepted Mrs.  Rushbrooke's  invitation  to  come  to-night  in 
the  hope  of  meeting  with  a  number  of  the  business  men 
of  Winnipeg.  The  more  I  think  of  it  the  more  terrible 
this  thing  becomes.  The  ordinary  conditions  of  business 
are  gone.  Wre  shall  all  need  to  readjust  ourselves  in 
every  department  of  life.  It  seems  to  me  that  we  must 
stand  together  and  meet  this  calamity  as  best  we  can, 
wisely,  fairly  and  fearlessly.  The  main  point  to  be  con- 
sidered is,  should  we  not  have  a  general  meeting  of  the 
business  men  of  Winnipeg,  and  if  so,  when?" 

Mr.  Murray's  words  were  received  in  deep  silence,  and 
for  a  time  no  one  made  reply.  Then  Mr.  Rushbrooke 
made  answer. 

"We  all  feel  the  importance  of  what  Mr.  Murray  has 
said.  Personally,  though,  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  we 
should  avoid  all  unnecessary  excitement  and  everything 


r  328  THE  MAJOR 

approaching  panic.  The  war  will  doubtless  be  a  short 
one.  Germany,  after  long  preparation,  has  decided  to 
challenge  Great  Britain's  power.  Still,  Britain  is  ready 
for  her.  She  has  accepted  the  challenge ;  and  though  her 
army  is  not  great,  she  is  yet  not  unprepared.  Between 
the  enemy  and  Britain's  shores  there  lies  that  mighty, 
invisible  and  invincible  line  of  defence,  the  British  navy. 
With  the  French  armies  on  the  one  side  and  the  Russian 
on  the  other,  Germany  can  not  last.  In  these  days,  with 
the  terrible  engines  of  destruction  that  science  has  pro- 
duced, wars  will  be  short  and  sharp.  Germany  will  get 
her  medicine  and  I  hope  it  will  do  her  good." 

If  Mr.  Rushbrooke  expected  his  somewhat  flamboyant 
speech  to  awaken  enthusiastic  approval,  he  must  have 
been  disappointed.  His  words  were  received  in  grave 
silence.  The  fact  of  war  was  far  too  unfamiliar  and 
too  overwhelming  to  make  it  easy  for  them  to  compass 
it  in  their  thoughts  or  to  deal  in  any  adequate  way  with 
its  possible  issues. 

After  some  moments  of  silence  the  minister  spoke.  "I 
wish  I  could  agree  with  Mr.  Rushbrooke,"  he  said.  "But 
I  cannot.  My  study  of  this  question  has  impressed  me 
with  the  overwhelming  might  of  Germany's  military 
power.  The  war  may  be  short  and  sharp,  and  that  is 
what  Germany  is  counting  upon.  But  if  it  be  short  and 
sharp,  the  issue  will  be  a  German  victory.  The  French 
1  army  is  not  fully  prepared,  I  understand.  Russia  is  an 
untrained  and  unwieldy  mass.  There  is,  of  course,  the 
British  navy,  and  with  all  my  heart  I  thank  God  that  our 
fleet  appears  to  be  fit  for  service.  But  with  regard  even 
to  our  navy  we  ought  to  remember  that  it  is  as  yet  un- 
tried in  modern  warfare.  I  confess  I  rannot  share  Mr. 
k  Rushbrooke's  optimistic  views  as  to  the  war.  But 
whether  he  be  right  or  I,  one  thing  stands  out  clear  in 
my  mind — that  we  should  prepare  ourselves  to  do  our 
duty.  At  whatever  cost  to  our  country  or  to  ourselves, 
as  individuals,  this  duty  is  laid  upon  us.  It  is  the  first, 
the  immediate,  the  all-absorbing  duty  of  every  man, 


WAR  329 

woman  and  child  in  Canada  to  make  war.  God  help  us 
not  to  shrink." 

"How  many  in  this  company  will  be  in  Winnipeg  this 
week,  say  to-morrow?"  inquired  Mr.  Murray.  The 
hand  of  every  business  man  in  the  company  went  up. 
"Then  suppose  we  call  a  meeting  at  my  office  immediately 
upon  the  arrival  of  the  train."  And  to  this  they  agreed. 

The  Rushbrooke  bonfire  was  an  annual  event  and  ever 
the  most  notable  of  all  its  kind  during  the  holiday  season 
at  the  Lake.  This  year  the  preparations  for  the  festive 
gathering  had  exceeded  those  of  previous  years,  and 
Mrs.  Rushbrooke's  expectations  of  a  brilliantly  success- 
ful function  were  proportionately  high.  But  she  had  not 
counted  upon  War.  And  so  it  came  that  ever  as  the  ap- 
plause following  song  or  story  died  down,  the  Spectre 
drew  near,  and  upon  even  the  most  light-hearted  of  the 
company  a  strange  quiet  would  fall,  and  they  would  find 
themselves  staring  into  the  fire  forgetful  of  all  about 
them,  thinking  of  what  might  be.  They  would  have 
broken  up  early  but  Mrs.  Rushbrooke  strenuously 
resisted  any  such  attempt.  But  the  sense  of  the 
impending  horror  chilled  the  gaiety  of  the  evening  and 
halted  the  rush  of  the  fun  till  the  hostess  gave  up  in  de- 
spair and  no  longer  opposed  the  departure  of  her  guests. 

"Mr.  McPherson,"  she  said,  as  that  gentleman  came 
to  bid  her  good-night,  "I  am  quite  cross  with  you.  You 
made  us  all  feel  so  blue  and  serious  that  you  quite  spoiled 
our  bonfire." 

"I  wish  it  were  only  I  that  had  spoiled  it,  Mrs.  Rush- 
brooke," said  Mr.  McPherson  gravely.  "But  even  your 
graceful  hospitality  to-night,  which  has  never  been  ex- 
celled even  by  yourself  at  the  Lake  of  the  Woods,  could 
not  make  us  forget,  and  God  forgive  us  if  we  do  forget." 

"Oh,  Mr.  McPherson,"  persisted  Mrs.  Rushbrooke,  in 
a  voice  that  strove  to  be  gaily  reproachful,  "we  must  not 
become  pessimistic.  We  must  be  cheerful  even  if  we  are 
at  war." 

"Thank  you  for  that  word,"  said  the  minister  sol- 


330  THE  MAJOR 

emnly.  "It  is  a  true  word  and  a  right  word,  and  it  is  a 
word  we  shall  need  to  remember  more  and  more." 

"The  man  would  drive  me  mad,"  said  Mrs.  Rush- 
brooke  to  Mr.  Murray  as  they  watched  the  boats 
away.  "I  am  more  than  thankful  that  he  is  not  my 
clergyman." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  her  husband,  who  stood  near  her 
and  shared  her  feelings  of  disappointment.  "It  seems 
to  me  he  takes  things  far  too  seriously." 

"I  wonder,"  said  Dr.  Brown,  who  stood  with  Mr. 
Murray  preparatory  to  taking  his  departure.  "I  won- 
der if  we  know  just  how  serious  this  thing  is.  I  frankly 
confess,  Mr.  Rushbrooke,  that  my  mind  has  been  in  an 
appalling  condition  of  chaos  this  afternoon;  and  every 
hour  the  thing  grows  more  terrible  as  I  think  of  it.  But 
as  you  say,  we  must  cheer  up." 

"Surely  we  must,"  replied  Rushbrooke  impatiently. 
"I  am  convinced  this  war  will  soon  be  over.  In  three 
months  the  .British  navy  together  with  the  armies  of  their 
allies  will  wind  this  thing  up." 

Through  a  wonder  world  of  moonlit  waterways  and 
dark,  mysterious  channels,  around  peninsulas  and  be- 
tween islands,  across  an  open  traverse  and  down  a  little 
bay,  they  took  their  course  until  Jim  had  them  safely 
landed  at  their  own  dock  again.  The  magic  beauty  of 
the  white  light  upon  wooded  island  and  gleaming  lake 
held  them  in  its  spell  for  some  minutes  after  they  had 
landed  till  Mrs.  Murray  came  down  from  the  bungalow 
to  meet  them. 

"Safe  back  again,"  she  cried  with  an  all  too  evident 
effort  to  be  cheery.  "How  lovely  the  night  is,  and  how 
peaceful!  James,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  turning  to 
her  husband,  "I  wish  you  would  go  to  Isabel.  I  cannot 
get  her  to  sleep.  She  says  she  must  see  you." 

"Why,  what's  up?" 

"I  think  she  has  got  a  little  fright,"  said  his  wife. 
"She  has  been  sobbing  pitifully." 

Mr.  Murray  found  the  little  thing  wide  awake,  her 


WAR  331 

breath  coming  in  the  deep  sobs  of  exhaustion  that  fol- 
lows tempestuous  tears.  "What's  the  trouble,  Sweet- 
heart?" 

"Oh,  Daddy,"  cried  the  child,  flinging  herself  upon 
him  and  bursting  anew  into  an  ecstasy  of  weeping,  "she 
— said — you  would — have — to — go.  But — you  won't — 
will  you— Daddy?" 

"Why,  Isabel,  what  do  you  mean,  dear?    Go  where?" 

"To  the — war — Daddy — they  said — you  would — have 
— to  go— to  the  war." 

"Who  said?" 

"Mabel.     But — you — won't,   will   you,   Daddy?" 

"Mabel  is  a  silly  little  goose,"  said  Mr.  Murray 
angrily.  "No,  never  fear,  my  Sweetheart,  they  won't 
expect  me  to  go.  I  am  far  too  old,  you  know.  Now, 
then,  off  you  go  to  sleep.  Do  you  know,  the  moon  is 
shining  so  bright  outside  that  the  little  birds  can't  sleep. 
I  just  heard  a  little  bird  as  we  were  coming  home  cheep- 
ing away  just  like  you.  I  believe  she  could  not  go  to 
sleep." 

But  the  child  could  not  forget  that  terrible  word  which 
had  rooted  itself  in  her  heart.  "But  you  will  not  go; 
promise  me,  Daddy,  you  will  not  go." 

"Why,  Sweetheart,  listen  to  me." 

"But  promise  me,  Daddy,  promise  me."  The  little 
thing  clung  to  him  in  a  paroxysm  of  grief  and  terror. 

"Listen,  Isabel  dear,"  said  her  father  quietly.  "You 
know  I  always  tell  you  the  truth.  Now  listen  to  me.  I 
promise  you  I  won't  go  until  you  send  me  yourself.  Will 
that  do?" 

"Yes,  Daddy,"  she  said,  and  drew  a  long  breath.  "Now 
I  am  so  tired,  Daddy."  Even  as  she  spoke  the  little 
form  relaxed  in  his  arms  and  in  a  moment  she  was  fast 
asleep. 

As  her  father  held  her  there  the  Spectre  drew  near 
again,  but  for  the  moment  his  courage  failed  him  and  he 
dared  not  look. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE   TUCK   OF   DRUM 

IN  the  midst  of  her  busy  summer  work  in  field  and  fac- 
tory, on  lake  and  river,  in  mine  and  forest,  on  an 
August  day  of  1914,  Canada  was  stricken  to  the  heart. 
Out  of  a  blue  summer  sky  a  bolt  as  of  death  smote  her, 
dazed  and  dumb,  gasping-  to  God  her  horror  and  amaze. 
Without  word  of  warning,  without  thought  of  prepara- 
tion, without  sense  of  desert,  War,  brutal,  bloody,  devil- 
ish War,  was  thrust  into  her  life  by  that  power  whose 
business  in  the  world,  whose  confidence  and  glory,  was 
war. 

For  some  days,  stunned  by  the  unexpectedness  of  the 
blow,  as  much  as  by  its  weight,  Canada  stood  striving  to 
regain  her  poise.  Then  with  little  outcry,  and  with  less 
complaint,  she  gathered  herself  for  her  spring.  A  week, 
and  then  another,  she  stood  breathless  and  following 
with  eyes  astrain  the  figure  of  her  ally,  little  Belgium, 
gallant  and  heroic,  which  had  moved  out  upon  the  world 
arena,  the  first  to  offer  battle  to  the  armour-weighted, 
monstrous  war  lord  of  Europe,  on  his  way  to  sate  his 
soul  long  thirsty  for  blood — men's  if  he  could,  women's 
and  little  children's  by  preference,  being  less  costly. 
And  as  she  stood  and  strained  her  eyes  across  the  sea  by 
this  and  other  sights  moved  to  her  soul's  depths,  she 
made  choice,  not  by  compulsion  but  of  her  own  free  will, 
of  war,  and  having  made  her  choice,  she  set  herself  to  the 
business  of  getting  ready.  From  Pacific  to  Atlantic, 
from  Vancouver  to  Halifax,  reverberated  the  beat  of  the 
drum  calling  for  men  willing  to  go  out  and  stand  with 
the  Empire's  sons  in  their  fight  for  life  and  faith  and 

332 


THE  TUCK  OF  DRUM  333 

freedom.  Twenty-five  thousand  Canada  asked  for.  In  less 
than  a  month  a  hundred  thousand  men  were  battering  at 
the  recruiting  offices  demanding  enlistment  in  the  First 
Canadian  Expeditionary  Force.  From  all  parts  of 
Canada  this  demand  was  heard,  but  nowhere  with  louder 
insistence  than  in  that  part  which  lies  beyond  the  Great 
Lakes.  In  Winnipeg,  the  Gateway  City  of  the  West, 
every  regiment  of  militia  at  once  volunteered  in  its  full 
strength  for  active  service.  Every  class  in  the  com- 
munity, every  department  of  activity,  gave  an  immediate 
response  to  the  country's  call.  The  Board  of  Trade ;  the 
Canadian  Club,  that  free  forum  of  national  public  opin- 
ion; the  great  courts  of  the  various  religious  bodies;  the 
great  fraternal  societies  and  whatsoever  organisation  had 
a  voice,  all  pledged  unqualified,  unlimited,  unhesitating 
support  to 'the  Government  in  its  resolve  to  make  war. 

Early  in  the  first  week  of  war  wild  rumours  flew  of 
victory  and  disaster,  but  the  heart  of  Winnipeg  as  of 
the  nation  was  chiefly  involved  in  the  tragic  and  glorious 
struggle  of  little  Belgium.  And  when  two  weeks  had 
gone  and  Belgium,  bruised,  crushed,  but  unconquered, 
lay  trampled  in  the  bloody  dust  beneath  the  brutal  boots 
of  the  advancing  German  hordes,  Canada  with  the  rest 
of  the  world  had  come  to  measure  more  adequately  the 
nature  and  the  immensity  of  the  work  in  hand.  By  her 
two  weeks  of  glorious  conflict  Belgium  had  uncovered  to 
the  world's  astonished  gaze  two  portentous  and  signifi- 
cant facts:  one,  stark  and  horrible,  that  the  German 
military  power  knew  neither  ruth  nor  right;  the  other, 
gloriously  conspicuous,  that  Germany's  much-vaunted 
men-of-war  were  not  invincible.  \ 

On  the  first  Sunday  of  the  war  the  churches  of  Winni- 
peg were  full  to  the  doors.  Men,  whose  attendance  was 
more  or  less  desultory  and  to  a  certain  extent  dependent 
upon  the  weather,  were  conscious  of  an  impulse  to  go 
to  church.  War  had  shaken  the  foundations  of  their 
world,  and  men  were  thinking  their  deepest  thoughts  and 
facing  realities  too  often  neglected  or  minimised.  "I 


334 

have  been  thinking  of  God  these  days,"  said  a  man  to 
Mr.  Murray  as  they  walked  home  from  business  on  Sat- 
urday, and  there  were  many  like  him  in  Canada  in  those 
first  days  of  August.  Without  being  able  definitely  to 
define  it  there  was  in  the  hearts  of  men  a  sense  of  need 
of  some  clear  word  of  guiding,  and  in  this  crisis  of 
Canadian  history  the  churches  of  Canada  were  not  found 
wanting.  The  same  Spirit  that  in  ancient  days  sent 
forth  the  Hebrew  Isaiah  with  a  message  of  warning  and 
counsel  for  the  people  of  his  day  and  which  in  the  great 
crises  of  nations  has  found  utterance  through  the  lips  of 
men  of  humble  ancLbelieving  hearts  once  more  became  a 
source  of  guidance  and  of  courage. 

The  message  varied  with  the  character  and  training 
of  the  messenger.  In  the  church  of  which  Reverend  An- 
drew McPherson  was  the  minister  the  people  were  called 
to  repentance  and  faith-  and  courage. 

"Listen  to  the  Word  of  God,"  cried  the  minister, 
"spoken  indeed  to  men  of  another  race  and  another  time, 
but  spoken  as  truly  for  the  men  of  this  day  and  of  this 
nation.  'Thus  saith  Jehovah,  thy  Redeemer,  the  Holy 
One  of  Israel;  I  am  Jehovah  thy  God,  which  teacheth 
thee  to  profit,  which  leadeth  thee  by  the  way  that  thou 
shouldst  go.  Oh,  that  thou  wouldst  hearken  to  my  com- 
mandments !  then  would  thy  peace  be  as  a  river,  and  thy 
righteousness  as  the  waves  of  the  sea.  .  .  .  There  is 
no  peace,  saith  Jehovah,  to  the  wicked.'  Echoing  down 
through  the  centuries,  these  great  words  have  verified 
themselves  in  every  age  and  may  in  our  day  verify  them- 
selves anew.  Peace  and  righteousness  are  necessarily 
and  eternally  bound  together."  He  refused  to  discuss 
with  them  to-day  the  causes  of  this  calamity  that  had 
fallen  upon  them  and  upon  the  world.  But  in  the  name 
of  that  same  Almighty,  Holy  God,  he  summoned  the  peo- 
ple to  repentance  and  to  righteousness,  for  without  right- 
eousness there  could  be  no  peace. 

In  the  Cathedral  there  rang  out  over  the  assembled 
people  the  Call  to  Sacrifice.  "He  that  saveth  his  life 


THE  TUCK  OF  DRUM  335 

shall  lose  it ;  and  he  that  loseth  his  life  for  My  sake  shall 
find  it."  The  instinct  to  save  life  was  fundamental  and 
universal.  There  were  times  when  man  must  resist  that 
instinct  and  choose  to  surrender  life.  Such  was  the 
present  time.  Dear  as  life  was,  there  were  things  infi- 
nitely more  precious  to  mankind,  and  these  things  were 
in  peril.  For  the  preserving-  of  these  things  to  the  world 
our  Empire  had  resolved  upon  war,  and  throughout  the 
Empire  the  call  had  sounded  forth  for  men  willing  to 
sacrifice  their  lives.  To  this  call  Canada  would  make 
response,  and  only  thus  could  Canada  save  her  life.  For 
faith,  for  righteousness,  for  humanity,  our  Empire  had 
accepted  war.  And  now,  as  ever,  the  pathway  to  im- 
mortality for  men  and  for  nations  was  the  pathway  of 
sacrifice. 

In  St.  Mary's  the  priest,  an  Irishman  of  warm  heart 
and  of  fiery  fighting  spirit,  summoned  the  faithful  to 
faith  and  duty.  To  faith  in  the  God  of  their  fathers 
who  through  his  church  had  ever  led  his  people  along  the 
stern  pathway  of  duty.  The  duty  of  the  hour  was  that 
of  united  and  whole-hearted  devotion  to  the  cause  of 
Freedom,  for  which  Great  Britain  had  girded  on  her 
sword.  The  heart  of  the  Empire  had  been  thrilled  by 
the  noble  words  of  the  leader  of  the  Irish  Party  in  the 
House  of  Commons  at  Home,  in  which  he  pledged  the 
Irish  people  to  the  cause  of  the  world's  Freedom.  In 
this  great  struggle  all  loyal  sons  of  Canada  of  all  races 
and  creeds  would  be  found  united  in  the  defence  of  this 
sacred  cause. 

The  newspaper  press  published  full  reports  of  many  of 
the  sermons  preached.  These  sermons  all  struck  the 
same  note — repentance,  sacrifice,  service.  On  Monday 
morning  men  walked  with  surer  tread  because  the  light 
was  falling  clearer  upon  the  path  they  must  take. 

In  the  evening,  when  Jane  and  her  friend,  Ethel  Mur- 
ray, were  on  their  way  downtown,  they  heard  the  beat 
of  a  drum.  Was  it  fancy,  or  was  there  in  that  beat 
something  they  had  never  heard  in  a  drum  beat  before. 


336  THE  MAJOR 

something  more  insistent,  more  compelling?  They  hur- 
ried to  Portage  Avenue  and  there  saw  Winnipeg's  fa- 
mous historic  regiment,  the  Ninetieth  Rifles,  march  with 
quick,  brisk  step  to  the  drum  beat  of  their  bugle  band. 

"Look,"  cried  Ethel,  "there's  Pat  Scallons,  and  Ted 
Tuttle,  and  Fred  Sharp,  too.  I  did  not  know  that  he 
belonged  to  the  Ninetieth."  And  as  they  passed,  rank 
on  rank,  Ethel  continued  to  name  the  friends  whom  she 
recognised. 

But  Jane  stood  uttering  no  word.  The  sight  of  these 
lads  stepping  to  the  drum  beat  so  proudly  had  sent  a  chill 
to  her  heart  and  tears  to  her  eyes.  "Oh,  Ethel,"  she 
cried,  touching  her  friend's  arm,  "isn't  it  terrible?" 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  cried  Ethel,  glancing  at  her. 
"Think  of  what  they  are  marching  to !" 

"Oh,  I  can't  bear  it,"  said  Jane. 

But  Ethel  was  more  engaged  with  the  appearance  of 
the  battalion,  from  the  ranks  of  \vhich  she  continued  to 
pick  out  the  faces  of  her  friends.  "Look,"  she  cried, 
"that  surely  is  not  Kellerman!  It  is!  It  is!  Look, 
Jane,  there's  that  little  Jew.  Is  it  possible?" 

"Kellerman?"  cried  Jane.  "No,  it  can't  be  he. 
There  are  no  Jews  in  the  Ninetieth." 

"But  it  is,"  cried  Ethel.  "It  is  Kellerman.  Let  us 
go  up  to  Broadway  and  we  shall  meet  them  again." 

They  turned  up  a  cross  street  and  were  in  time  to 
secure  a  position  from  which  they  could  get  a  good  look 
at  the  faces  of  the  lads  as  they  passed.  The  battalion 
was  marching  at  attention,  and  so  rigid  was  the  discipline 
that  not  a  face  was  turned  toward  the  two  young  ladies 
standing  at  the  street  corner.  A  glance  of  the  eye  and 
a  smile  they  received  from  their  friends  as  they  passed, 
but  no  man  turned  his  head. 

"There  he  is,"  said  Jane.  "It  is  Kellerman — in  the 
second  row,  see  ?" 

"Sure  enough,  it  is  Kellerman,"  said  Ethel.  "Well, 
what  has  come  to  Winnipeg?" 

"War,"  said  Jane  solemnly.     "And  a  good  many  more 


THE  TUCK  OF  DRUM  337 

of  the  boys  will  be  going  too,  if  they  are  any  good." 

As  Kellerman  came  stepping  along  he  caught  sight  of 
the  girls  standing  there,  but  no  sign  of  recognition  did 
he  make.  He  was  too  anxious  to  be  considered  a  soldier 
for  that.  Steadiness  was  one  of  the  primary  principles 
knocked  into  the  minds  of  recruits  by  the  Sergeant 
Major. 

The  girls  moved  along  after  the  column  had  passed  at 
a  sufficient  distance  to  escape  the  rabble.  At  the  drill 
hall  they  found  the  street  blocked  by  a  crowd  of  men, 
women  and  children. 

"What  is  all  this,  I  wonder?"  said  Ethel.  "Let  us 
wait  here  awhile.  Perhaps  we  may  come  across  some 
one  we  know." 

It  was  a  strange  crowd  that  gathered  about  the  en- 
trance to  the  drill  hall,  not  the  usual  assemblage  of  noisy, 
idly  curious  folk  of  the  lighter  weight  that  are  wont  to 
follow  a  marching  battalion  or  gather  to  the  sound  of  a 
band.  It  was  composed  of  substantial  and  solid  people, 
serious  in  face  and  quiet  in  demeanour.  They  were 
there  on  business,  a  business  of  the  gravest  character. 
As  the  girls  stood  waiting  they  heard  far  down  Broad- 
way the  throbbing  of  drums. 

"Listen,  Ethel,"  cried  Jane.     "The  Pipes!" 

"The  Pipes !"  echoed  Ethel  in  great  excitement.  "The 
Kilties!" 

Above  the  roll  and  rattle  of  the  drums  they  caught 
those  high,  heart-thrilling  sounds  which  for  nearly  two 
hundred  years  have  been  heard  on  every  famous  British 
battlefield,  and  which  have  ever  led  Scotland's  sons  down 
the  path  of  blood  and  death  to  imperishable  glory. 

A  young  Ninetieth  officer,  intent  on  seeing  that  the 
way  was  kept  clear  for  the  soldiers,  came  striding  out  of 
the  armoury. 

"Oh,  there's  Frank  Smart,"  said  Ethel.  "I  wish  he 
would  see  us." 

As  if  in  answer  to  her  wish,  Smart  turned  about  and 
saw  them  in  the  crowd.  Immediatelv  he  came  to  them. 


338  THE  MAJOR 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  a  soldier,  Frank,"  said  Jane, 
greeting  him  with  a  radiant  smile. 

"I  had  almost  forgotten  it  myself,"  said  Frank.  'But 
I  was  at  church  yesterday  and  I  went  home  and  looked 
up  my  uniform  and  here  I  am." 

"You  are  not  going  across,  Frank,  are  you?"  said 
Ethel. 

"If  I  can.  There  is  very  strong  competition  between 
both  officers  and  men.  I  have  been  paying  little  atten- 
tion to  soldiering  for  a  year  or  so;  I  have  been  much 
too  busy.  But  now  things  are  different.  If  I  can  make 
it,  I  guess  I  will  go." 

"Oh,  Frank,  you  don't  need  to  go,"  "said  Ethel, 
mean  there  are  heaps  of  men  all  over  Canada  wanting 
to  go.    Why  should  you  go?" 

"The  question  a  fellow  must  ask  himself  is  rather 
why  should  he  stay,"  replied  the  young  officer.  "Don't 
you  think  so,  Jane?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jane,  drawing  in  her  breath  sharply  but 
smiling  at  him. 

"Do  you  want  to  go  in?"  asked  Frank. 

"Oh,  do  let's  go  in,"  said  Ethel. 

But  Jane  shrank  back.  "I  don't  like  to  go  through  all 
those  men,"  she  said,  "though  I  should  like  greatly  to  see 
Kellerman,"  she  added.  "I  wonder  if  I  could  see  him." 

"Kellerman?" 

"Yes,  he's  Jane's  special,  you  know,"  said  Ethel. 
"They  ran  close  together  for  the  German  prize,  you  re- 
member. You  don't  know  him?  A  little  Jew  chap." 

"No,  I  don't  know  him,"  said  Smart.  "But  you  can 
certainly  see  him  if  you  wish.  Just  come  with  me;  I  will 
get  you  in.  But  first  I  have  got  to  see  that  this  way  is 
kept  clear  for  the  Highlanders." 

"Oh,  let's  wait  to  see  them  come  up,"  said  Ethel. 

"Well,  then,  stand  here,"  said  Frank.  "There  may  be 
a  crush,  but  if  you  don't  mind  that  we  will  follow  right 
after  them.  Here  they  come.  Great  lads,  aren't 
they?" 


THE  TUCK  OF  DRUM  339 

"And  they  have  their  big  feather  bonnets  on,  too," 
said  Ethel. 

Down  the  street  the  Highlanders  came  in  column  of 
fours,  the  pipe  band  leading. 

"Aren't  they  gorgeous?"  said  Smart  with  generous 
praise  for  a  rival  battalion.  "Chesty-looking  devils,  eh  ?" 
he  added  as  they  drew  near.  "You  would  think  that 
Pipe  Major  owned  at  least  half  of  Winnipeg." 

"And  the  big  drummer  the  other  half,"  added  Ethel. 
"Look  at  his  sticks.  He's  got  a  classy  twirl,  hasn't  he  ?" 

Gorgeous  they  were,  th'eir  white  spats  flashing  in  time 
with  their  step,  their  kilts  swaying  free  over  their  tartan 
hose  and  naked  knees,  their  white  tunics  gleaming 
through  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  and  over  all  the  tossing 
plumes  of  their  great  feather  bonnets  nodding  rhythmi- 
cally with  their  swinging  stride. 

"Mighty  glad  we  have  not  to  fight  those  boys,"  said 
Frank  as  the  column  swung  past  into  the  armoury. 

The  crowd  which  on  other  occasions  would  have 
broken  into  enthusiastic  cheers  to-night  stood  in  silence 
while  the  Highlanders  in  all  their  gorgeous  splendour 
went  past.  That  grave  silence  was  characteristic  of  the 
Winnipeg  crowds  those  first  days  of  war.  Later  they 
found  voice. 

"Now  we  can  go  in.  Come  right  along,"  said  Smart. 
"Stand  clear  there,  boys.  You  can't  go  in  unless  you 
have  an  order." 

"We  ar-r-e  wantin'  tae  join,"  said  a  Scotch  voice. 

"You  are,  eh?  Come  along  then.  Fall  into  line 
there."  The  men  immediately  dropped  into  line.  "Ah, 
you  have  been  there  before,  I  see,"  said  Smart. 

"Aye,  ye'er-r-r  right  ther-r-re,  sir-r-r,"  answered  the 
voice. 

"You  will  be  for  the  Kilties,  boys?"  said  Frank. 

"Aye.     What  else?"  asked  the  same  man  in  surprise. 

"There  is  only  one  regiment  for  the  Scotchman  ap- 
parently," said  Frank,  leading  the  way  to  the  door.  "Just 
hold  these  men  here  until  I  see  what's  doing,  will  you  ?" 


340  THE  MAJOR 

he  said  to  the  sentry  as  he  passed  in.  "Now,  then,  young 
ladies,  step  to  your  right  and  await  me  in  that  corner.  I 
must  see  what's  to  be  done  with  these  recruits.  Then  I 
shall  find  Kellerman  for  you." 

But  he  had  no  need  to  look  for  Kellerman,  for  before 
he  returned  the  little  Jew  had  caught  sight  of  the  young 
ladies  and  had  made  his  way  to  them. 

"Why,  how  splendid  you  look,  Mr.  Kellerman,"  said 
Ethel.  "I  did  not  know  you  were  in  the  Ninetieth." 

"I  wasn't  until  Friday." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  joined  up  to  go  away?" 
inquired  Ethel. 

"That's  what,"  said  Kellerman. 

"But  you  are — I  mean — I  do  not  see "  Ethel 

stopped  in  confusion. 

"What  you  mean,  Miss  Murray,  is  that  you  are  sur- 
prised at  a  Jew  joining  a  military  organisation,"  said 
Kellerman  with  a  quiet  dignity  quite  new  to  him.  For- 
merly his  normal  condition  was  one  of  half  defiant,  half 
cringing  nervousness  in  the  presence  of  ladies.  To-night 
he  carried  himself  with  an  easy  self-possession,  and  it 
was  due  to  more  than  the  uniform. 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  right.  It  is  horrid  of  me  and 
I  am  awfully  sorry,"  said  Ethel,  impulsively  offering  him 
her  hand. 

"Why  did  you  join,  Mr.  Kellerman?"  said  Jane  in  her 
quiet  voice. 

"Why,  I  hardly  know  if  I  can  tell  you.  I  will, 
though,"  he  added  with  a  sudden  impulse,  "if  you  care 
to  hear." 

"Oh,  do  tell  us,"  said  Ethel.  But  Kellerman  looked 
at  Jane. 

"If  you  care  to  tell,  Mr.  Kellerman,"  she  said. 

The  little  Jew  stood  silent  a  few  minutes,  leaning  upon 
his  rifle  and  looking  down  upon  the  ground.  Then  in  a 
low,  soft  voice  he  began :  "I  was  born  in  Poland — Ger- 
man Poland.  The  first  thing  I  remember  is  seeing  my 
mother  kneeling,  weeping  and  wringing  her  hands  beside 


THE  TUCK  OF  DRUM  341 

my  father's  dead  body  outside  the  door  of  our  little 
house  in  our  village.  He  was  a  student,  a  scholar,  and  a 
patriot."  Kellerman's  voice  took  on  a  deeper  and  firmer 
tone.  "He  stood  for  the  Polish  language  in  the  schools. 
There  was  a  riot  in  our  village.  "A  German  officer  struck 
my  father  down  and  killed  him  on  the  ground.  My 
mother  wiped  the  blood  off  his  white  face — I  can  see  that 
white  face  now — with  her  apron.  She  kept  that  apron ; 
she  has  it  yet.  We  got  somehow  to  London  soon  after 
that.  The  English  people  were  good  to  us.  The  Ger- 
man people  are  tyrants.  They  have  no  use  for  free  peo- 
ples." The  little  Jew's  words  snapped  through  his  teeth. 
"When  war  came  a  week  ago  I  could  not  sleep  for  two 
nights.  On  Friday  I  joined  the  Ninetieth.  That  night 
I  slept  ten  hours."  As  he  finished  his  story  the  lad  stood 
staring  straight  before  him  into  the  moving  crowd.  He 
had  forgotten  the  girls  who  with  horror-stricken  faces 
had  been  listening  to  him.  He  was  still  seeing  that  white 
face  smeared  with  blood. 

"And  your  mother?"  said  Jane  gently  as  she  laid  her 
hand  upon  his  arm. 

The  boy  started.  "My  mother?  Oh,  my  mother,  she 
went  with  me  to  the  recruiting  office  and  saw  me  take  the 
oath.  She  is  satisfied  now." 

For  some  moments  the  girls  stood  silent,  unable  to  find 
their  voices.  Then  Jane  said,  her  eyes  glowing  with  a 
deep  inner  light,  "Mr.  Kellerman,  I  am  proud  of  you." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Brown ;  it  does  me  good  to  hear  you 
say  that.  But  you  have  always  been  good  to  me." 

"And  I  want  you  to  come  and  see  me  before  you  go," 
said  Jane  as  she  gave  him  her  hand.  "Now  will  you 
take  us  out  through  the  crowd?  We  must  get  along." 

"Certainly,  Miss  Brown.  Just  come  with  me."  With 
a  fine,  soldierly  tread  the  young  Jew  led  them  through 
the  crowd  and  put  them  on  their  way.  He  did  not.  shake 
hands  with  them  as  he  said  good-bye,  but  gave  them 
instead  a  military  salute,  of  which  he  was  apparently  dis- 
tinctly proud. 


342  THE  MAJOK 

"Tell  me,  Jane,"  said  Ethel,  as  they  set  off  down  the 
street,  "am  I  awake?  Is  that  little  Kellerman,  the  greasy 
little  Jew  whom  we  used  to  think  such  a  beast?" 

"Isn't  he  splendid?"  said  Jane.  "Poor  little  Keller- 
man! You  know,  Ethel,  he  had  not  one  girl  friend  in 
college?  I  am  sorry  now  we  were  not  better  to  him." 

The  streets  were  full  of  people  walking  hurriedly  or 
gathered  here  and  there  in  groups,  all  with  grave,  solemn 
faces.  In  front  of  The  Times  office  a  huge  concourse 
stood  before  the  bulletin  boards  reading  the  latest  des- 
patches. These  were  ominous  enough:  "The  Germans 
Still  Battering  Liege  Forts — Kaiser's  Army  Nearing 
Brussels — Four  Millions  of  Men  Marching  on  France — 
Russia  Hastening  Her  Mobilisation — Kitchener  Calls  for 
One  Hundred  Thousand  Men — Canada  Will  Send  Expe- 
ditionary Force  of  Twenty-five  Thousand  Men — Camp  at 
Valcartier  Nearly  Ready — Parliament  Assembles  Thurs- 
day." Men  read  the  bulletins  and  talked  quietly  to 
each  other.  They  had  not  yet  reached  clearness  in  their 
thinking  as  to  how  this  dread  thing  had  fallen  upon 
their  country  so  far  from  the  storm  centre,  so  remote  in 
all  vital  relations.  There  was  no  cheering — the  cheering 
days  came  later — no  ebullient  emotion,  but  the  tighten- 
ing of  lip  and  jaw  in  their  stern,  set  faces  was  a  sufficient 
index  of  the  tensity  of  feeling.  Canadians  were  thinking 
things  out,  thinking  keenly  and  swiftly,  for  in  the  atmos- 
phere and  actuality  of  war  mental  processes  are  carried 
on  at  high  pressure. 

As  the  girls  stood  at  the  corner  of  Portage  Avenue 
and  Main  waiting  for  a  crossing,  an  auto  held  up  in  the 
traffic  drew  close  to  their  side. 

"Hello,  Ethel!  Won't  you  get  in?"  said  a  voice  at 
their  ear. 

"Hello,  Lloyd!  Hello,  Helen!"  cried  Ethel.  "We 
will,  most  certainly.  Are  you  joying,  or  what?" 

"Both,"  said  Lloyd  Rushbrooke,  who  was  at  the  wheel. 
"Helen  wanted  to  see  the  soldiers.  She  is  interested  in 


THE  TUCK  OF  DRUM  343 

the  Ninetieth  but  he  wasn't  there  and  I  am  just  taking  her 
about." 

"We  saw  the  Ninetieth  and  the  Kilties  too,"  said 
Ethel.  "Oh,  they  are  fine!  Oh,  Helen,  whom  do  you 
think  we  saw  in  the  Ninetieth?  You  will  never  guess — 
Heinrich  Kellerman." 

"Good  Lord!  That  greasy  little  Sheeney?"  exclaimed 
Rushbrooke. 

"Look  out,  Lloyd.     He's  Jane's  friend,"  said  Ethel. 

Lloyd  laughed  uproariously  at  the  joke.  "And  you 
say  the  little  Yid  was  in  the  Ninetieth?  Well,  what  is 
the  Ninetieth  coming  to  ?" 

"Lloyd,  you  mustn't  say  a  word  against  Mr.  Keller- 
man," said  Jane.  "I  think  he  is  a  real  man." 

"Oh,  come,  Jane.  That  little  Hebrew  Shyster?  Why, 
he  does  not  wash  more  than  once  a  year!" 

"I  don't  care  if  he  never  washes  at  all.  I  won't  have 
you  speak  of  him  that  way,"  said  Jane.  "I  mean  it.  He 
is  a  friend  of  mine." 

"And  of  mine,  too,"  said  Ethel,  "since  to-night.  Why, 
he  gave  me  thrills  up  in  the  armoury  as  he  told  us  why 
he  joined  up." 

"One  ten  per,  eh?"  said  Lloyd. 

"Shall  I  tell  him?"  said  Ethel. 

"No,  you  will  not,"  said  Jane  decidedly.  "Lloyd  would 
not  understand." 

"Oh,  I  say,  Jane,  don't  spike  a  fellow  like  that.  I  am 
just  joking." 

"I  won't  have  you  joke  in  that  way  about  Mr.  Keller- 
man, at  least,  not  to  me."  Few  of  her  college  mates  had 
ever  seen  Jane  angry.  They  all  considered  her  the  per- 
sonification of  even-tempered  serenity. 

"If  you  take  it  that  way,  of  course  I  apologise,"  said 
Lloyd. 

"Now  listen  to  me,  Lloyd,"  said  Jane.  "I  am  going 
to  tell  you  why  he  joined  up."  And  in  tones  thrilling 
with  the  intensity  of  her  emotion  and  finally  breaking, 
she  recounted  Kellerman's  story.  "And  that  is  why  he 


344  THE  MAJOR 

is  going  to  the  war,  and  I  am  proud  of  him,"  she  added. 

"Splendid!"  cried  Helen  Brookes.  "You  are  in  the 
Ninetieth,  too,  Lloyd,  aren't  you  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lloyd.  "At  least,  I  was.  I  have  not  gone 
much  lately.  I  have  not  had  time  for  the  military  stuff, 
so  I  canned  it." 

"And  we  saw  Pat  Scallons  and  Ted  Tuttle  in  the 
Ninetieth,  too,  and  Ramsay  Dunn — oh,  he  did  look  fine 
in  his  uniform — and  Frank  Smart — he  is  going  if  he 
can,"  said  Ethel.  "I  wonder  what  his  mother  will  do. 
He  is  the  only  son,  you  know." 

"Well,  if  you  ask  me,  I  think  that  is  rot.  It  is  not 
right  for  Smart.  There  are  lots  of  fellows  who  can  go," 
said  Lloyd  in  quite  an  angry  tone.  "Why,  they  say  they 
have  nearly  got  the  twenty-five  thousand  already." 

"My,  I  would  like  to  be  in  the  first  twenty-five  thou- 
sand if  I  were  a  man,"  said  Ethel.  "There  is  something 
fine  in  that.  Wouldn't  you,  Jane?" 

"I  am  not  a  man,"  said  Jane  shortly. 

"Why  the  first  twenty-five  thousand?"  said  Lloyd. 
"Oh,  that  is  just  sentimental  rot.  If  a  man  was  really 
needed,  he  would  go ;  but  if  not,  why  should  he?  There's 
no  use  getting  rattled  over  this  thing.  Besides,  some- 
body's got  to  keep  things  going  here.  I  think  that  is  a 
fine  British  motto  that  they  have  adopted  in  England, 
'Business  as  usual/  ' 

".'Business  as  usual!'"  exclaimed  Jane  in  a  tone  of 
unutterable  contempt.  "I  think  I  must  be  going  home, 
Lloyd,"  she  added.  "Can  you  take  me?" 

"What's  the  rush,  Jane?  It  is  early  yet.  Let's  take 
a  turn  out  to  the  Park." 

But  Jane  insisted  on  going  home.  Never  before  in  all 
her  life  had  she  found  herself  in  a  mood  in  which  she 
could  with  difficulty  control  her  speech.  She  could  not 
understand  how  it  was  that  Lloyd  Rushbrooke,  whom 
she  had  always  greatly  liked,  should  have  become  at  once 
distasteful  to  her.  She  could  hardly  bear  the  look  upon 
tiis  handsome  face.  His  clever,  quick-witted  fun,  which 


THE  TUCK  OF  DRUM  345 

she  had  formerly  enjoyed,  now  grated  horribly.  Of  all 
the  college  boys  in  her  particular  set,  none  was  more 
popular,  none  better  liked,  than  Lloyd  Rushbrooke.  Now 
she  was  mainly  conscious  of  a  desire  to  escape  from  his 
company.  This  feeling  distressed  her.  She  wanted  to 
be  alone  that  she  might  think  it  out.  That  was  Jane's 
way.  She  always  knew  her  own  mind,  could  always 
account  for  her  emotions,  because  she  was  intellectually 
honest  and  had  sufficient  fortitude  to  look  facts  in  the 
face.  At  the  door  she  did  not  ask  even  her  friend,  Ethel, 
to  come  in  with  her.  Nor  did  she  make  excuse  for 
omitting  this  courtesy.  That,  too,  was  Jane's  way.  She 
was  honest  with  her  friends  as  with  herself.  She  em- 
ployed none  of  the  little  fibbing  subterfuges  which  polite 
manners  approve  and  which  are  employed  to  escape  awk- 
ward situations,  but  which,  of  course,  deceive  no  one. 
She  was  simple,  sincere,  direct  in  her  mental  and  moral 
processes,  and  possessed  a  courage  of  the  finest  quality. 
Under  ordinary  circumstances  she  would  have  cleared 
up  her  thinking  and  worked  her  soul  through  the  mist 
and  stress  of  the  rough  weather  by  talking  it  over  with 
her  father  or  by  writing  a  letter  to  Larry.  But  during 
the  days  of  the  past  terrible  week  she  had  discovered 
that  her  father,  too,  was  tempest-tossed  to  an  even 
greater  degree  than  she  was  herself;  and  somehow  she 
had  no  heart  to  write  to  Larry.  Indeed,  she  knew  not 
what  to  say.  Her  whole  world  was  in  confusion. 

And  in  Winnipeg  there  were  many  like  her.  In  every 
home,  while  faces  carried  bold  fronts,  there  was  heart 
searching  of  the  ultimate  depths  and  there  was  purging 
of  souls.  In  every  office,  in  every  shop,  men  went  about 
their  work  resolute  to  keep  minds  sane,  faces  calm,  and 
voices  steady,  but  haunted  by  a  secret  something  which 
they  refused  to  call  fear — which  was  not  fear — but  which 
as  yet  they  were  unwilling  to  acknowledge  and  which 
they  were  unable  to  name.  With  every  bulletin  from 
across  the  sea  the  uncertainty  deepened.  Every  hour 
they  waited  for  news  of  a  great  victory  for  the  fleet. 


346  THE  MAJOR 

The  second  day  of  the  war  a  rumour  of  such  a  victory 
had  come  across  the  wires  and  had  raised  hopes  for  a 
•day  which  next  day  were  dashed  to  despair.  One  ray  of 
light,  thin  but  marvellously  bright,  carne  from  Belgium. 
For  these  six  breathless  days  that  gallant  little  people  had 
barred  the  way  against  the  onrushing  multitudes  of  Ger- 
many's military  hosts.  The  story  of  the  defence  of  Liege 
was  to  the  Allies  like  a  big  drink  of  wine  to  a  fainting1 
man.  But  Belgium  could  not  last.  And  what  of  France? 
What  France  would  do  no  man  could  say.  It  was  ex- 
ceedingly doubtful  whether  there  was  in  the  French  soul 
that  enduring  quality,  whether  in  the  army  or  in  the 
nation,  that  would  be  steadfast  in  the  face  of  disaster. 
The  British  navy  was  fit,  thank  God!  But  as  to  the 
army,  months  must  elapse  before  a  British  army  of  any 
size  could  be  on  the  fighting  line. 

Another  agonising  week  passed  and  still  there  was  no 
sure  word  of  hope  from  the  Front.  In  Canada  one 
strong,  heartening  note  had  been  sounded.  The  Cana- 
dian Parliament  had  met  and  with  splendid  unhesitating 
unanimity  had  approved  all  the  steps  the  Government 
had  taken,  had  voted  large  sums  for  the  prosecution  of 
the  war,  and  had  pledged  Canada  to  the  Empire  to  the 
limit  of  her  power.  That  fearless  challenge  flung  out 
into  the  cloud  wrapped  field  of  war  was  like  a  clear  bugle 
call  in  the  night.  It  rallied  and  steadied  the  young  na- 
tion, touched  her  pride,  and  breathed  serene  resolve  into 
the  Canadian  heart.  Canadians  of  all  classes  drew  a  long, 
deep  breath  of  relief  as  they  heard  of  the  action  of 
their  Parliament.  Doubts,  uncertainties  vanished  like 
morning  mists  blown  by  the  prairie  breeze.  They  knew 
not  as  yet  the  magnitude  of  the  task  that  lay  before  them, 
but  they  knew  that  whatever  it  might  be,  they  would  not 
go  back  from  it. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  week  the  last  fort  in  Liege 
had  fallen ;  Brussels,  too,  was  gone ;  Antwerp  threatened. 
Belgium  was  lost.  From  Belgian  villages  and  towns 
were  beginning  to  come  those  tales  of  unbelievable  atroci- 


THE  TUCK  OF  DRUM  347 

ties  that  were  to  shock  the  world  into  horrified  amaze- 
ment. These  tales  read  in  the  Canadian  papers  clutched 
men's  throats  and  gripped  men's  hearts  as  with  cruel  fin- 
gers of  steel.  Canadians  were  beginning  to  see  red.  The 
blood  of  Belgium's  murdered  victims  was  indeed  to  prove 
throughout  Canada  and  throughout  the  world  the  seed  of 
mighty  armies. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  week  Jane  could  refrain  no 
longer.    She  wrote  to  Larry. 


A    NEUTRAL    NATION 

THE  first  days  of  the  war  were  for  Larry  days  of 
dazed  bewilderment  and  of  ever-deepening  misery. 
The  thing  which  he  had  believed  impossible  had  come. 
That  great  people  upon  whose  generous  ideals  and  liberal 
Christian  culture  he  had  grounded  a  sure  hope  of  perma- 
nent peace  had  flung  to  the  winds  all  the  wisdom,  and  all 
justice,  and  all  the  humanity  which  the  centuries  had  gar- 
nered for  them,  and,  following  the  primal  instincts  of  the 
brute,  had  hurled  forth  upon  the  world  ruthless  w?tr. 
Even  the  great  political  party  of  the  Social  Democrats 
upon  which  he  had  relied  to  make  war  impossible  Tiad 
without  protest  or  division  proclaimed  enthusiastic  alle- 
giance to  the  war  programme  of  the  Kaiser.  The  univer- 
sities and  the  churches,  with  their  preachers  and  profes- 
sors, had  led  the  people  in  mad  acclaim  of  war.  His 
whole  thinking  on  the  subject  had  been  proved  wrong. 
Passionately  he  had  hoped  against  hope  that  Britain 
would  not  allow  herself  to  enter  the  war,  but  apparently 
her  struggle  for  peace  had  been  in  vain.  His  first  feel- 
ing was  one  of  bitter  disappointment  and  of  indignation 
with  the  great  leaders  of  the  British  people  who  had  al- 
lowed themselves  to  become  involved  in  a  Mid-European 
quarrel.  Sir  Edward  Grey's  calm,  moderate — sub-mod- 
erate, indeed — exposition  of  the  causes  which  had  forced 
Britain  into  war  did  much  to  cool  his  indignation,  and 
Bethmann-Hollweg's  cynical  explanation  of  the  violation 
of  Belgium's  neutrality  went  far  to  justify  Britain's  ac- 
tion consequent  upon  that  outraging  of  treaty  faith.  The 
deliberate  initiation  of  the  policy  of  "frightfulness" 

34* 


A  NEUTRAL  NATION  349 

which  had  heaped  such  unspeakable  horrors  upon  the 
Belgian  people  tore  the  veil  from  the  face  of  German 
militarism  and  revealed  in  its  sheer  brutality  the  ruth- 
lessness  and  lawlessness  of  that  monstrous  system. 

From  the  day  of  Austria's  ultimatum  to  Servia  Larry 
began  to  read  everything  he  could  find  dealing  with 
modern  European  history,  and  especially  German  history. 
Day  and  night  he  studied  with  feverish  intensity  the 
diplomacy  and  policies  of  the  great  powers  of  Europe 
till  at  length  he  came  to  a  somewhat  clear  understanding 
of  the  modern  theory  and  world  policy  of  the  German 
state  which  had  made  war  inevitable.  But,  though  his 
study  made  it  possible  for  him  to  relieve  his  country  from 
the  charge  of  guilt  in  this  war,  his  anxiety  and  his  misery 
remained.  For  one  thing,  he  was  oppressed  with  an 
overwhelming  loneliness.  He  began  to  feel  that  he  was 
dwelling  among  an  alien  people.  He  had  made  many 
and  close  friends  during  the  months  of  his  stay  in  Chi- 
cago. But  while  they  were  quick  to  offer  him  sympathy 
in  his  anxiety  and  misery,  he  could  not  fail  to  observe 
on  every  hand  the  obvious  and  necessary  indications  of 
the  neutral  spirit.  He  could  expect  nothing  else.  In  this 
conflict  America  had  decided  that  she  was  not  immedi- 
ately concerned  and  she  was  resolute  to  remain  uncon- 
cerned. A  leading  representative  of  the  Chicago  press 
urged  Americans  to  be  careful  not  to  "rock  the  boat." 
The  President  of  the  United  States  counselled  his  people 
"to  keep  calm"  and  to  observe  the  strictest  neutrality. 
Larry  discovered,  too,  an  unconfessed,  almost  uncon- 
scious desire  in  the  heart  of  many  an  American,  a  relic 
of  Revolutionary  days,  to  see  England  not  destroyed  or 
even  seriously  disabled,  but,  say,  "well  trimmed."  It 
would  do  her  good.  There  was,  beside,  a  large  element 
in  the  city  distinctly  and  definitely  pro-German  and  in- 
tensely hostile  to  Great  Britain.  On  his  way  to  the  office 
one  afternoon  Larry  found  himself  held  up  by  a  long  pro- 
cession of  young  German  reservists  singing  with  the  ut- 
most vigour  and  with  an  unmistakable  note  of  triumph 


350  THE  MAJOR 

the  German  national  air,  "Die  Wacht  Am  Rhein,"  and 
that  newer  song  which  embodied  German  faith  and  Ger- 
man ambition,  "Deutschland  t)ber  Alles."  When- he  ar- 
rived at  the  office  that  afternoon  he  was  surprised  to  find 
that  he  was  unable  to  go  on  with  his  work  for  the 
trembling  of  his  hands.  In  the  office  he  was  utterly  alone, 
for,  however  his  friends  there  might  take  pains  to  show 
extra  kindness,  he  was  conscious  of  complete  isolation 
from  their  life.  Unconcerned,  indifferent,  coolly  critical 
of  the  great  conflict  in  which  his  people  were  pouring 
out  blood  like  water,  they  were  like  spectators  at  a  foot- 
ball match  on  the  side  lines  willing  to  cheer  good  play 
on  either  side  and  ready  to  acclaim  the  winner. 

The  Wakehams,  though  extremely  careful  to  avoid  a 
word  or  act  that  might  give  him  pain,  naturally  shared 
the  general  feeling  of  their  people.  For  them  the  war 
was  only  another  of  those  constantly  recurring  European 
scraps  which  were  the  inevitable  result  of  the  forms  of 
government  which  these  nations  insisted  upon  retaining. 
If  peoples  were  determined  to  have  kings  and  emperors, 
what  other  could  they  expect  but  wars.  France,  of 
course,  was  quite  another  thing.  The  sympathy  of 
America  with  France  was  deep,  warm  and  sincere. 
America  could  not  forget  the  gallant  Lafayette.  Be- 
sides, France  was  the  one  European  republic.  As  for 
Britain,  the  people  of  Chicago  were  content  to  maintain 
a  profoundly  neutral  calm,  and  to  a  certain  extent  the 
Wakehams  shared  this  feeling. 

In  Larry's  immediate  circle,  however,  there  were  two 
exceptions.  One,  within  the  Wakeham  family,  was 
Elfie.  Quick  to  note  the  signs  of  wretchedness  in  him 
and  quick  to  feel  the  attitude  of  neutrality  assumed  by 
her  family  toward  the  war,  the  child,  without  stint  and 
without  thought,  gave  him  a  love  and  a  sympathy  so 
warm,  so  passionate,  that  it  was  to  his  heart  like  balm  to 
an  open  wound.  There  was  no  neutrality  about  Elfie. 
She  was  openly,  furiously  pro-Ally.  The  rights  and 
wrongs  of  the  great  world  conflict  were  at  first  nothing 


A  NEUTRAL  NATION  351 

to  her.  With  Canada  and  the  Canadians  she  was  madly 
in  love,  they  were  Larry's  people  and  for  Larry  she  would 
have- gladly  given  her  life.  Another  exception  to  the  gen- 
eral state  of  feeling  was  that  of  Hugo  Raeder.  From  the 
first  Raeder  was  an  intense  and  confessed  advocate  of. 
the  cause  of  the  Allies.  From  personal  observation  he 
knew  Germany  well,  and  from  wide  reading  he  had  come 
to  understand  and  appreciate  the  significance  of  her 
world  policy.  He  recognised  in  German  autocracy  and 
in  German  militarism  and  in  German  ambition  a  menace 
to  the  liberties  of  Europe.  He  represented  a  large  and 
intellectually  influential  class  of  men  in  the  city  and 
throughout  the  country  generally.  Graduates  of  the 
great  universities,  men  high  in  the  leadership  of  the  finan- 
cial world,  the  editors  of  the  great  newspapers  almost  to 
a  man,  magazine  editors  and  magazine  writers  untinged 
by  racial  or  personal  affinity  with  Germany,  these  were 
represented  by  Raeder,  and  were  strongly  and  enthusias- 
tically in  sympathy  with  the  aims  of  the  Allies,  and  as  the 
war  advanced  became  increasingly  eager  to  have  their 
country  assume  a  definite  stand  on  the  side  of  those  na- 
tions whom  they  believed  to  be  fighting  for  the  liberties 
and  rights  of  humanity.  But  though  these  exceptions 
were  a  source  of  unspeakable  comfort  to  him,  Larry  car- 
ried day  by  day  a  growing  sense  of  isolation  and  an  in- 
creasing burden  of  anxiety. 

Then,  too,  there  was  the  question  of  his  duty.  He  had 
no  clear  conviction  as  to  what  his  duty  was.  With  all 
his  hatred  and  loathing  of  war,  he  had  come  to  the  con- 
viction that  should  he  see  it  to  be  the  right  thing  for  him, 
he  would  take  his  place  in  the  fighting  line.  There  ap- 
peared, however,  to  be  no  great  need  for  men  in  Canada 
just  now.  In  response  to  the  call  for  twenty-five 
thousand  men  for  the  First  Expeditionary  Force,  nearly 
one  hundred  thousand  had  offered.  And  yet  his  country 
was  at  war;  his  friends  whether  enlisted  for  the  fighting 
line  or  in  the  civilian  ranks  were  under  the  burden. 
Should  he  not  return  to  Canada  and  find  some  way  to 


352  THE  MAJOR 

help  in  the  great  cause?  But  again,  on  the  other  hand, 
his  work  here  was  important,  he  had  been  treated  with 
great  consideration  and  kindness,  he  had  made  a«  place 
for  himself  where  he  seemed  to  be  needed.  The  lack 
of  clear  vision  of  his  duty  added  greatly  to  his  dis- 
tress. 

A  wire  had  informed  him  in  the  first  days  of  the  war 
that  his  brother-in-law  had  gone  to  rejoin  his  old  regi- 
ment in  the  Coldstream  Guards.  A  letter  from  Nora  did 
not  help  much.  "Jack  has  gone,"  she  wrote.  "We  all 
felt  he  could  do  nothing  else.  Even  poor,  dear  Mother 
agreed  that  nothing  else  was  possible.  Kathleen  amazes 
us  all.  The  very  day  after  the  awful  news  came,  with- 
out a  word  from  Jack,  I  found  her  getting  his  things 
together.  'Are  you  going  to  let  him  go?'  I  asked  her, 
perfectly  amazed  at  her  coolness.  'Let  me  go?'  said  Jack, 
who  was  muddling  about  her.  'Let  me  go?  She  would 
not  let  me  stay.  Would  you,  Kathleen?'  'No,'  she  said, 
'I  do  not  think  I  would  like  you  to  stay,  Jack.'  And  this 
is  our  pacifist,  Kathleen,  mind  you!  How  she  came  to 
see  through  this  thing  so  rapidly  I  don't  know.  But 
sooner  than  any  of  us  Kathleen  saw  what  the  war  was 
about  and  that  we  must  get  in.  She  goes  about  her 
work  quietly,  cheerfully.  She  has  no  illusions,  and  there 
is  no  bravado.  Oh,  Larry  dear,  I  do  not  believe  I  could 
do  it.  When  she  smiles  at  the  dear  wee  man  in  her  arms 
I  have  to  run  away  or  I  should  howl.  I  must  tell  you 
about  Duckworth.  You  know  what  a  dear  he  is.  We 
have  seen  a  good  deal  of  him  this  year.  He  has  quite 
captivated  Mother.  Well,  he  had  a  letter  from  his  father 
saying,  'I  am  just  about  rejoining  my  regiment;  your 
brother  has  enlisted;  your  sister  has  gone  to  the  Red 
Cross.  We  have  given  our  house  to  the  Government  for 
a  hospital.  Come  home  and  join  up.'  What  a  man  he 
must  be!  The  dear  boy  came  to  see  us  and,  Larry,  he 
wanted  me.  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  have  said  yes,  but  some- 
how I  couldn't.  Dear  boy,  I  could  only  kiss  him  and 
weep  over  him  till  he  forgot  himself  in  trying  to  comfort 


A  NEUTRAL  NATION  353 

me.  He  went  with  the  Calgary  boys.  Hec  Ross  is  off, 
too;  and  Angus  Fraser  is  up  and  down  the  country  with 
kilt  and  pipes  driving  Scotchmen  mad  to  be  at  the  war. 
He's  going,  too,  although  what  his  old  mother  will  do 
without  him  I  do  not  know.  But  she  will  hear  of  nothing 
less.  Only  four  weeks  of  this  war  and  it  seems  like  a 
year.  Switzer  has  gone,  you  know,  the  wicked  devil. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  Sam,  who  had  been  working 
around  the  mine,  the  whole  thing  would  have  been  blown 
up  with  dynamite.  Sam  discovered  the  thing  in  time. 
The  Germans  have  all  quit  work.  Thank  God  for  that. 
So  the  mine  is  not  doing  much.  Mother  is  worried  about 
the  war,  I  can  see,  thinking  things  through." 

A  letter  from  Jane  helped  him  some.  It  was  very 
unlike  Jane  and  evidently  written  under  the  stress  of 
strong  emotion.  She  gave  him  full  notes  of  the  Rev- 
erend Andrew  McPherson's  sermons,  which  she  appeared 
to  set  great  store  by.  The  rapid  progress  of  recruiting 
filled  her  with  delight.  It  grieved  her  to  think  that  her 
friends  were  going  to  the  war,  but  that  grief  was  as 
nothing  compared  to  the  grief  and  indignation  against 
those  who  seemed  to  treat  the  war  lightly.  She  gave  a 
page  of  enthusiastic  appreciation  to  Kellerrnan.  Another 
page  she  devoted  to  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  repress 
her  furious  contempt  for  Lloyd  Rushbrooke,  who  talked 
largely  and  coolly  about  the  need  of  keeping  sane.  The 
ranks  of  the  first  contingent  were  all  filled  up.  She  knew 
there  were  two  million  Canadians  in  the  United  States 
who  if  they  were  needed  would  flock  back  home.  They 
were  not  needed  yet,  and  so  it  would  be  very  foolish  for 
them  to  leave  good  positions  in  the  meantime. 

Larry  read  the  last  sentence  with  a  smile.  "Dear  old 
Jane,"  he  said  to  himself.  "She  wants  to  help  me  out; 
and,  by  George,  she  does."  Somehow  Jane's  letter 
brought  healing  to  his  lacerated  nerves  and  heart,  and 
steadied  him  to  bear  the  disastrous  reports  of  the  steady 
drive  of  the  enemy  towards  Paris  that  were  released  by 
the  censor  during  the  last  davs  of  that  dreadful  August. 


354  THE  MAJOR 

With  each  day  of  that  appalling  retreat  Larry's  agony 
deepened.  The  reports  were  vague,  but  one  thing  was 
clear — the  drive  was  going  relentlessly  forward,  and  the 
French  and  the  British  armies  alike  were  powerless  to 
stay  the  overwhelming  torrent.  The  check  at  the  Marne 
lifted  the  gloom  a  bit.  But  the  reports  of  that  great 
fight  were  meagre  and  as  yet  no  one  had  been  able  to 
estimate  the  full  significance  of  that  mighty  victory  for 
the  Allied  armies,  nor  the  part  played  therein  by  the  gal- 
lant and  glorious  little  army  that  constituted  the  British 
Expeditionary  Force. 

Blacker  days  came  in  late  September,  when  the  news 
arrived  of  the  disaster  to  the  Aboukir  and  her  sister 
ships,  and  a  month  later  of  the  destruction  of  the  Good 
Hope  and  the  Monmouth  in  the  South  Pacific  sea  fight. 
On  that  dreadful  morning  on  his  way  downtown  he  pur- 
chased a  paper.  After  the  first  glance  he  crushed  the 
paper  together  till  he  reached  his  office,  where  he  sat  with 
the  paper  spread  out  before  him  on  his  desk,  staring  at 
the  headlines,  unable  to  see,  unable  to  think,  able  only  to 
suffer.  In  the  midst  of  his  misery  Professor  Schaefer 
passed  through  the  office  on  his  way  to  consult  with  Mr. 
Wakeham  and  threw  him  a  smile  of  cheery  triumph.  It 
was  a  way  Schaefer  had  these  days.  The  very  sight  of 
him  was  enough  to  stir  Larry  to  a  kind  of  frenzied  mad- 
ness. This  morning  the  German's  smile  was  the  filling  up 
of  his  cup  of  misery.  He  stuffed  the  paper  into  his  desk, 
took  up  his  pen  and  began  to  make  figures  on  his  pad, 
gnawing  his  lips  the  while. 

An  hour  later  Hugo  Raeder  came  in  with  a  message 
for  him.  Raeder  after  one  look  at  his  face  took  Larry 
away  with  him,  sick  with  rage  and  fear,  in  his  car,  and 
for  an  hour  and  a  half  drove  through  the  Park  at  a  rate 
that  defied  the  traffic  regulations,  talking  the  while  in 
quiet,  hopeful  tones  of  the  prospects  of  the  Allies,  of  the 
marvellous  recovery  of  the  French  and  British  armies  on 
the  Marne  and  of  the  splendid  Russian  victories.  He 
touched  lightly  upon  the  recent  naval  disaster,  which  was 


A  NEUTRAL  NATION  355 

entirely  due  to  the  longer  range  of  the  enemy's  guns  and 
to  a  few  extraordinarily  lucky  shots.  The  clear,  crisp 
air,  the  swift  motion,  the  bright  sun,  above  all  the  deep, 
kindly  sympathy  of  this  strong,  clear-thinking  man  be- 
side him,  brought  back  to  Larry  his  courage  if  not  his 
cheer.  As  they  were  nearly  back  to  the  office  again,  he 
ventured  his  first  observation,  for  throughout  the  drive 
he  had  confined  his  speech  to  monosyllabic  answers  to 
Raeder' s  stream  of  talk. 

"In  spite  of  it  all,  I  believe  the  navy  is  all  right,"  he 
said,  with  savage  emphasis. 

"My  dear  chap,"  exclaimed  Raeder,  "did  you  ever 
doubt  it?  Did  you  read  the  account  of  the  fight?" 

"No,"  said  Larry,  "only  the  headlines." 

"Then  you  did  not  see  that  the  British  ships  were  dis- 
tinctly outclassed  in  guns  both  as  to  range  and  as  to 
weight.  Nothing  can  prevent  disaster  in  such  a  case. 
It  was  a  bit  of  British  stupidity  to  send  those  old  cruisers 
on  such  an  expedition.  The  British  navy  is  all  right.  If 
not,  then  God  help  America." 

"Say,  old  chap,"  said  Larry  as  they  stepped  out  of  the 
car,  "you  have  done  me  a  mighty  good  turn  this  morning, 
and  I  will  not  forget  it." 

"Oh,  that  is  all  right,"  said  Raeder.  "We  have  got 
to  stand  together  in  this  thing,  you  know." 

"Stand  together?"  said  Larry. 

"Yes,  stand  together.  Don't  you  forget  it.  We  are 
with  you  in  this.  Deep  down  in  the  heart  America  is 
utterly  sound;  she  knows  that  the  cause  of  the  Allies  is 
the  cause  of  justice  and  humanity.  America  has  no  use 
for  either  brutal  tyranny  or  slimy  treachery.  The  real 
American  heart  is  with  you  now,  and  her  fighting  army 
will  yet  be  at  your  side." 

These  sentiments  were  so  unusual  in  his  environment 
that  Larry  gazed  at  him  in  amazement. 

"That  is  God's  truth,"  said  Raeder.  "Take  a  vote  of 
the  college  men  to.-day,  of  the  big  business  men,  of  the 
big  newspaper  men — these  control  the  thinking  and  the 


356  THE  MAJOR 

acting  of  America — and  you  will  find  ninety  per  cent,  of 
these  pro-Ally.  Just  be  patient  and  give  the  rest  of  us 
time.  Americans  will  not  stand  for  the  bully,"  added 
Raeder,  putting  his  hand  on  Larry's  shoulder.  "You 
hear  me,  my  boy.  Now  I  am  going  in  to  see  the  boss. 
He  thinks  the  same  way,  too,  but  he  does  not  say  much 
out  loud." 

New  hope  and  courage  came  into  Larry's  heart  as  he 
listened  to  the  pronouncement  of  this  clear-headed,  virile 
young  American.  Oh,  if  America  would  only  say  out 
loud  what  Raeder  had  been  saying,  how  it  would  tone 
up  the  spirit  of  the  Allies !  A  moral  vindication  of  their 
cause  from  America  would  be  worth  many  an  army 
corps. 

The  morning  brought  him  another  and  unexpected 
breeze  of  cheer  in  the  person  of  Dean  Wakeham  straight 
from  Alberta  and  the  Lakeside  Farm.  A  little  before 
lunch  he  walked  in  upon  Larry,  who  was  driving  himself 
to  his  work  that  he  might  fo.get.  It  was  a  veritable 
breath  from  home  for  Larry,  for  Dean  was  one  who  car- 
ried not  only  news  but  atmosphere  as  well.  He  was  a 
great,  warm-hearted  boy,  packed  with  human  energies 
of  body,  heart  and  soul. 

"Wait  till  I  say  good-morning  to  father,"  he  said  after 
he  had  shaken  hands  warmly  with  Larry.  "I  will  be  back 
then  in  a  minute  or  two." 

But  in  a  few  minutes  Mr.  Wakeham  appeared  and 
called  Larry  to  him.  "Corrte  in,  boy,  and  hear  the  news," 
he  said. 

Larry  went  in  and  found  Dean  in  the  full  tide  of  a 
torrential  outpouring  of  passionate  and  enthusiastic,  at 
times  incoherent,  tales  of  the  Canadians,  of  their  spirit, 
of  their  sacrifice  and  devotion  in  their  hour  of  tragedy. 

"Go  on,  Dean,"  said  Raeder,  who  was  listening  with 
face  and  eyes  aglow. 

"Go  on  ?  I  cannot  stop.  Never  have  I  come  up  against 
anything  like  what  is  going  on  over  there  in  Canada. 
Not  in  one  spot,  either,  but  everywhere;  not  in  one 


A  NEUTRAL  NATION  357 

home,  but  in  every  home;  not  in  one  class,  but  in  every 
class.  In  Calgary  during  the  recruiting  I  saw  a  mob 
of  men  in  from  the  ranches,  from  the  C.  P.  R.  shops, 
from  the  mines,  from  the  offices,  fighting  mad  to  get  their 
names  down.  My  God!  I  had  to  go  away  or  I  would 
have  had  mine  in  too.  The  women,  too,  are  all  the  same. 
No  man  is  getting  under  his  wife's  skirts.  You  know 
old  Mrs.  Ross,  Larry,  an  old  Scotch  woman  up  there 
with  four  sons.  Well,  her  eldest  son  could  not  wait 
for  the  Canadian  contingent,  but  went  off  with  Jack 
Romayne  and  joined  the  Black  Watch.  He  was  in  that 
Le  Cateau  fight.  Oh,  why  don't  these  stupid  British  tell 
the  people  something  about  that  great  fighting  retreat 
from  Mons  to  the  Marne  ?  Well,  at  Le  Cateau  poor  Hec 
Ross  in  a  glorious  charge  got  his.  His  Colonel  wrote  the 
old  lady  about  it.  I  never  saw  such  a  letter;  there  never 
was  one  like  it.  I  motored  Mrs.  Gwynne,  your  mother, 
Larry,  over  to  see  her.  Say,  men,  to  see  those  two 
women  and  to  hear  them!  There  were  no  tears,  but  a 
kind  of  exaltation.  Your  mother,  Larry,  is  as  bad,  as 
good,  I  mean,  as  any  of  them  now.  I  heard  that  old 
Scotch  woman  say  to  your  mother  in  that  Scotch  voice 
of  hers,  'Misthress  Gwynne,  I  dinna  grudge  my  boy.  I 
wouldna  hae  him  back.'  Her  youngest  son  is  off  with  the 
Canadians.  As  she  said  good-bye  to  us  I  heard  her  say 
to  your  mother,  'I  hae  gi'en  twa  sons,  Misthress  Gwynne, 
an'  if  they're  wanted,  there's  twa  mair.'  My  God!  I 
found  myself  blubbering  like  a  child.  It  sounds  all  mad 
and  furious,  but  believe  me,  there  is  not  much  noise,  no 
hurrahing.  They  know  they  are  up  against  a  deadly  seri- 
ous business,  and  that  is  getting  clearer  every  minute. 
Did  you  see  that  the  Government  had  offered  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  men  now,  and  more  if  wanted? 
And  all  classes  are  the  same.  That  little  Welch  preacher 
at  Wolf  Willow — Rhye,  his  name  is,  isn't  it?  By  George, 
you  should  hear  him  flaming  in  the  pulpit.  He's  the 
limit.  There  won't  be  a  man  in  that  parish  will  dare 
hold  back.  He  will  just  have  to  go  to  war  or  quit  the 


358  THE  MAJOR, 

church.  And  it  is  the  same  all  over.  The  churches  are 
a  mighty  force  in  Canada,  you  know,  even  a  political 
force.  I  have  been  going  to  church  every  Sunday, 
Father,  this  last  year.  Believe  me,  God  is  some  real 
Person  to  those  people,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  He  has 
become  real  to  me  too."  As  Dean  said  this  he  glanced 
half  defiantly  at  his  father  as  if  expecting  a  challenge. 

But  his  father  only  cleared  his  throat  and  said,  "All 
right,  my  boy.  We  won't  do  anything  but  gladly  agree 
with  you  there.  And  God  may  come  to  be  more  real  to 
us  all  before  we  are  through  with  this  thing.  Go  on." 

"Let's  see,  what  was  I  talking  about?" 

"Churches." 

"Yes,  in  Calgary,  on  my  way  down  this  time,  the 
Archdeacon  preached  a  sermon  that  simply  sent  thrills 
down  my  spine.  In  Winnipeg  I  went  with  the  Murrays 
to  church  and  heard  a  clergyman,  McPherson,  preach. 
The  soldiers  were  there.  Great  Caesar !  No  wonder  Win- 
nipeg is  sending  out  thousands  of  her  best  men.  He  was 
like  an  ancient  Hebrew  prophet,  Peter  the  Hermit  and 
Billy  Sunday  all  rolled  into  one.  Yet  there  was  no  noisy 
drum  pounding  and  no  silly  flag  flapping.  Say,  let  me 
tell  you  something.  I  said  there  was  a  battalion  of  sol- 
diers in  church  that  day.  The  congregation  were  going 
to  take  Holy  Communion.  You  know  the  Scotch  way. 
They  all  sit  in  their  pews  and  you  know  they  are  fear- 
fully strict  about  their  Communion,  have  rules  and  regu- 
lations and  so  on  about  it.  Well,  that  old  boy  McPher- 
son just  leaned  over  his  pulpit  and  told  the  boys  what 
the  thing  stood  for,  that  it  was  just  like  swearing  in, 
and  he  told  them  that  he  would  just  throw  the  rules 
aside  and  man  to  man  would  ask  them  to  join  up  with 
God.  Say,  that  old  chap  got  my  goat.  The  boys  just 
naturally  stayed  to  Communion  and  I  stayed  too.  I  was 
not  fit,  I  know,  but  I  do  not  think  it  did  me  any  harm." 
At  this  point  .the  boy's  voice  broke  up  and  there  was 
silence  for  some  moments  in  the  office.  Larry  had  his 
face  covered  with  his  hands  to  hide  the  tears  that  were 


A  NEUTRAL  NATION  359 

streaming  down.  Dean's  father  was  openly  wiping  his 
eyes,  Raeder  looking  stern  and  straight  in  front  of  him. 

"Father,"  said  Dean  suddenly,  "I  want  to  give  you 
warning  right  now.  If  it  ever  comes  that  Canada  is  in 
need  of  men,  I  am  not  going  to  hold  back.  I  could  not 
do  it  and  stay  in  the  country.  I  am  an  American,  heart, 
body  and  soul,  but  I  would  count  myself  meaner  than  a 
polecat  if  I  declined  to  line  up  with  that  bunch  of  Cana- 
dians." 

"Think  well,  my  boy,"  said  his  father.  "Think  well. 
I  have  only  one  son,  but  I  will  never  stand  between  you 
and  your  duty  or  your  honour.  Now  we  go  to  lunch. 
Where  shall  we  go?" 

"With  me,  at  the  University  Club,  all  of  you,"  said 
Raeder. 

"No,  with  me,"  said  Mr.  Wakeham.  "I  will  put  up  the 
fatted  calf,  for  this  my  son  is  home  again.  Eh,  my  boy  ?" 

During  the  lunch  hour  try  as  they  would  they  could 
not  get  away  from  the  war.  Dean  was  so  completely 
obsessed  with  the  subject  that  he  could  not  divert  his 
mind  to  anything  else  for  any  length  of  time. 

"I  cannot  help  it,"  he  said  at  length.  "All  my  switches 
run  the  same  way." 

They  had  almost  finished  when  Professor  Schaefer 
came  into  the  dining  hall,  spied  them  and  hastened  over 
to  them. 

"Here's  this  German  beast,"  said  Dean. 

"Steady,  Dean.  We  do  business  with  him,"  said  his 
father. 

"All  right,  Father,"  replied  the  boy. 

The  Professor  drew  in  a  chair  and  sat  down.  He  only 
wanted  a  light  lunch  and  if  they  would  allow  him  he 
would  break  in  just  where  they  were.  He  was  full  of 
excitement  over  the  German  successes  on  sea  and  on  land. 

"On  land?"  said  Raeder.  "Well,  I  should  not  radiate 
too  freely  about  their  land  successes.  What  about  the 
Marne?" 

"The  Marne!"  said  Schaefer  in  hot  contempt.     "The 


360  THE  MAJOR 

Marne — strategy — strategy,  my  dear  sir.  But  wait. 
Wait  a  few  days.  If  we  could  only  get  that  boasted 
British  navy  to  venture  out  from  their  holes,  then, the 
war  would  be  over.  Mark  what  happens  in  the  Pacific. 
Scientific  gunnery,  three  salvos,  two  hundred  minutes 
from  the  first  gun.  It  is  all  over.  Two  British  ships 
sunk  to  the  bottom.  That  is  the  German  way.  They 
would  force  war  upon  Germany.  Now  they  have  it.  In 
spite  of  all  the  Kaiser's  peace  efforts,  they  drove  Ger- 
many into  the  war." 

"The  Kaiser !"  exclaimed  Larry,  unable  any  longer  to 
contain  his  fury.  "The  Kaiser's  peace  efforts !  The  only 
efforts  that  the  Kaiser  has  made  for  the  last  few  years 
are  efforts  to  bully  Europe  into  submission  to  his  will. 
The  great  peace-maker  of  Europe  of  this  and  of  the 
last  century  was  not  the  Kaiser,  but  King  Edward  VII. 
All  the  world  knows  that." 

"King  Edward  VII!"  sputtered  Schaefer  in  a  fury  of 

contempt.  "King  Edward  VII  a  peacemaker!  A !" 

calling  him  a  vile  name.  "And  his  son  is  like  him !" 

The  foul  word  was  like  a  flame  to  powder  with  Larry. 
His  hand  closed  upon  his  glass  of  water.  "You  are  a 
liar,"  he  said,  leaning  over  and  thrusting  his  face  close 
up  to  the  German.  "You  are  a  slanderous  liar."  He 
flung  his  glass  of  water  full  into  Schaefer's  face,  sprang 
quickly  to  his  feet,  and  as  the  German  rose,  swung  with 
his  open  hand  and  struck  hard  upon  the  German's  face, 
first  on  one  cheek  and  then  on  the  other. 

With  a  roar  Schaefer  flung  himself  at  him,  but  Larry 
in  a  cold  fury  was  waiting  for  him.  With  a  stiff,  full- 
armed  blow,  which  carried  the  whole  weight  of  his  body, 
he  caught  him  on  the  chin.  The  professor  was  lifted 
clear  over  his  chair.  Crashing  back  upon  the  floor,  he 
lay  there  still. 

"Good  boy,  Larry,"  shouted  Dean.  "Great  God! 
You  did  something  that  time." 

Silent,  white,  cold,  rigid,  Larry  stood  waiting.  More 
than  any  of  them  he  was  amazed  at  what  he  had  done. 


A  NEUTRAL  NATION  361 

Some   friends   of  the  Professor   rushed   toward  them. 

"Stand  clear,  gentlemen,"  said  Raeder.  "We  are  per- 
fectly able  to  handle  this.  This  man  offered  my  friend 
a  deadly  insult.  My  friend  simply  anticipated  •  what  I 
myself  would  gladly  have  done.  Let  me  say  this  to  you, 
gentlemen,  for  some  time  he  and  those  of  his  kind  have 
made  themselves  offensive.  Every  man  is  entitled  to  his 
opinion,  but  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  if  any  German 
insults  my  friends  the  Allies  in  my  presence,  I  shall  treat 
him  as  this  man  has  been  treated." 

There  was  no  more  of  it.  Schaefer's  friends  after 
reviving  him  led  him  off.  As  they  passed  out  of  the 
dining  hall  Larry  and  his  friends  were  held  up  by  a  score 
or  more  of  men  who  crowded  around  him  with  warm 
thanks  and  congratulations.  The  affair  was  kept  out 
of  the  press,  but  the  news  of  it  spread  to  the  limits  of 
clubland.  The  following  day  Raeder  thought  it  best  that 
they  should  lunch  again  together  at  the  University  Club. 
The  great  dining-room  was  full.  As  Raeder  and  his  com- 
pany entered  there  was  first  a  silence,  then  a  quick  hum 
of  voices,  and  finally  applause,  which  grew  in  volume  till 
it  broke  into  a  ringing  cheer.  There  was  no  longer  any 
doubt  as  to  where  the  sympathy  of  the  men  of  the  Uni- 
versity Club,  at  least,  lay  in  this  world  conflict. 

Two  days  later  a  telegram  was  placed  upon  Larry's 
desk.  Opening  it,  he  read,  "Word  just  received  Jack 
Romayne  killed  in  action."  Larry  carried  the  telegram 
quietly  into  the  inner  office  and  laid  it  upon  his  chief's 
desk. 

"I  can  stand  this  no  longer,  sir,"  he  said  in  a  quiet 
voice.  "I  wish  you  to  release  me.  I  must  return  to 
Canada.  I  am  going  to  the  war." 

"Very  well,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Wakeham.  "I  know 
you  have  thought  it  over.  I  feel  you  could  not  do  other- 
wise. I,  too,  have  been  thinking,  and  I  wish  to  say  that 
your  place  will  await  you  here  and  your  salary  will  go 
on  so  long  as  you  are  at  the  war.  No!  not  a  word! 
There  is  not  much  we  Americans  can  do  as  yet,  but  I 


362  THE  MAJOR 

shall  count  it  a  privilege  as  an  American  sympathising 
with  the  Allies  in  their  great  cause  to  do  this  much  at 
least.  And  you  need  not  worry  about  that  coal  mine. 
Dean  has  been  telling  me  about  it.  We  will  see  it 
through." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE   MAJOR  AND   THE   MAJOR'S   WIFE 

WHEN  Larry  went  to  take  farewell  of  the  Wake- 
hams  he  found  Rowena  with  Hugo  Raeder  in 
the  drawing-room. 

"You  are  glad  to  leave  us,"  said  Rowena,  in  a  tone  of 
reproach. 

"No,"  said  Larry,  "sorry.  You  have  been  too  good  to 
me." 

"You  are  glad  to  go  to  war  ?" 

"No;  I  hate  the  war.  I  am  not  a  soldier,  but,  thank 
God,  I  see  my  duty,  and  I  am  going  to  have  a  go  at  it." 

"Right  you  are,"  said  Hugo.  "What  else  could  any 
man  do  when  his  country  is  at  war?" 

"But  I  hate  to  go/'  said  Larry,  "and  I  hate  this  busi- 
ness of  saying  good-bye.  You  have  all  been  so  good  to 
me." 

"It  was  easy,"  said  Rowena.  "Do  you  know  I  was  on 
the  way  to  fall  in  love  with  you?  Hugo  here  and  Jane 
saved  me.  Oh,  I  mean  it,"  she  added,  flushing  as  she 
laughed. 

"Jane !"  exclaimed  Larry. 

"Yes,  Jane.  Oh,  you  men  are  so  stupid,"  said  Row- 
ena. "And  Hugo  helped  me  out,  too,"  she  added,  with 
a  shy  glance  at  him. 

Larry  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  then  rushed  to 
Hugo.  "Oh,  you  lucky  beggar!  You  two  lucky  beg- 
gars! Oh,  joy,  glory,  triumph!  Could  anything  be 
finer  in  the  wide  world?"  cried  Larry,  giving  a  hand  to 
each. 

"And,  Larry,  don't  be  a  fool,"  said  Rowena.  "Try 

363 


364  THE  MAJOR 

to  understand  your  dear,  foolish  heart,  and  don't  break 
your  own  or  any  one's  else." 

Larry  gazed  at  her  in  astonishment  and  then  at  Hugo, 
who  nodded  wisely  at  him. 

"She  is  quite  right,  Larry.  I  waru  io  see  that  young 
lady  Jane.  She  must  be  quite  unique.  I  owe  her  some- 
thing." 

"Good-bye,  then,"  said  Larry.  "I  have  already  seen 
your  mother.  Good-bye,  you  dear  things.  God  give  you 
everything  good.  He  has  already  given  you  almost  the 
best." 

"Good-bye,  you  dear  boy,"  said  Rowena.  "I  have 
wanted  to  kiss  you  many  a  time,  but  didn't  dare.  But 
now — you  are  going  to  the  war" — there  was  a  litttle 
break  in  her  voice — "where  men  die.  Good-bye,  Larry, 
dear  boy,  good-bye."  She  put  her  arms  about  him. 
"And  don't  keep  Jane  waiting,"  she  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"If  I  were  a  German,  Larry,"  said  Hugo,  giving  him 
both  hands,  "I  would  kiss  you  too,  old  boy,  but  being 
plain  American,  I  can  only  say  good  luck.  God  bless 
you." 

"You  will  find  Elfie  in  her  room,"  said  Rowena.  "She 
refuses  to  say  good-bye  •where  any  one  can  see  her.  She 
is  not  going  to  weep.  Soldiers'  women  do  not  weep,  she 
says.  Poor  kid !" 

Larry  found  Elfie  in  her  room,  with  high  lights  as  of 
fever  on  her  cheeks  and  eyes  glittering. 

"I  am  not  going  to  cry,'1  she  said  between  her  teeth. 
"You  need  not  be  afraid,  Larry.  I  am  going  to  be  like 
the  Canadian  women." 

Larry  took  the  child  in  his  arms,  every  muscle  and 
every  nerve  in  her  slight  body  taut  as  a  fiddle-string. 
He  smoothed  her  hair  gently  and  began  to  talk  quietly 
with  her. 

"What  good  times  we  have  had !"  he  said.  "I  remem- 
ber well  the  very  first  night  T  saw  you.  Do  you?" 

"Oh."  she  breathed,  "don't  speak  of  it,  or  I  can't  hold 
in." 


MAJOR  AND  MAJOR'S  WIFE    365 

"Elfie,"  said  Larry,  "our  Canadian  women  when  they 
are  seeing  their  men  off  at  the  station  do  not  cry;  they 
smile  and  wave  their  hands.  That  is,  many  of  them  do. 
But  in  their  own  rooms,  like  this,  they  cry  as  much  as 
they  like." 

"Oh,  Larry,  Larry,"  cried  the  child,  flinging  herself 
upon  him.  "Let  me  cry,  then.  I  can't  hold  in  any 
longer." 

"Neither  can  I,  little  girl.  See,  Elfie,  there  is  no  use 
trying  not  to,  and  I  am  not  ashamed  of  it,  either,"  said 
Larry. 

The  pent-up  emotion  broke  forth  in  a  storm  of  sob- 
bing and  tears  that  shook  the  slight  body  as  the  tempest 
shakes  the  sapling.  Larry,  holding  her  in  his  arms,  talked 
to  her  about  the  good  days  they  had  had  together. 

"And  isn't  it  fine  to  think  that  we  have  those  forever, 
and,  whenever  we  want  to,  we  can  bring  them  back 
again?  And  I  want  you  to  remember,  Elfie,  that  when 
I  was  very  lonely  and  homesick  here  you  were  the  one 
that  helped  me  most." 

"And  you,  Larry,  oh,  what  you  did  for  me !"  said  the 
child.  "I  was  so  sick  and  miserable  and  bad  and  cross 
and  hateful." 

"That  was  just  because  you  were  not  fit,"  said  Larry. 
"But  now  you  are  fit  and  fine  and  strong  and  patient,  and 
you  will  always  be  so.  Remember  it  is  a  soldier's  duty 
to  keep  fit."  Elfie  nodded.  "And  I  want  you  to  send  me 
socks  and  a  lot  of  things  when  I  get  over  there.  I  shall 
write  you  all  about  it,  and  you  will  write  me.  Won't 
you?"  Again  Elfie  nodded. 

"I  am  glad  you  let  me  cry,"  she  said.  "I  was  so  hot 
and  sore  here,"  and  she  laid  her  hands  upon  her  throat 
"And  I  am  glad  you  cried  too,  Larry;  and  I  won't  cry 
before  people,  you  know." 

"That  is  right.  There  are  going  to  be  too  many  sad 
people  about  for  us  to  go  crying  and  making  them  feel 
worse,"  said  Larry. 


366  THE  MAJOR 

"But  I  will  say  good-bye  here,  Larry.  I  could  go  to 
the  train,  but  then  I  might  not  quite  smile." 

But  when  the  train  pulled  out  that  night  the  last  face 
that  Larry  saw  of  all  his  warm-hearted  American  friends 
was  that  of  the  little  girl,  who  stood  alone  at  the  end  of 
the  platform,  waving  both  her  hands  wildly  over  her 
head,  her  pale  face  effulgent  with  a  glorious  smile, 
through  which  the  tears  ran  unheeded  down  her  cheeks 
like  rain  on  a  sunny  day.  And  on  Larry's  face,  as  he 
turned  away,  there  was  the  same  gleam  of  sunshine  and 
of  rain. 

"This  farewell  business  is  something  too  fierce,"  he 
said  to  himself  savagely,  thinking  with  a  sinking  heart 
of  the  little  group  at  Wolf  Willow  in  the  West  to  whom 
he  must  say  farewell,  and  of  the  one  he  must  leave  be- 
hind in  Winnipeg.  "How  do  these  women  send  their 
husbands  off  and  their  sons?  God  knows,  it  is  bevond 
me." 

Throughout  the  train  journey  to  Calgary  his  mind  was 
chiefly  occupied  with  the  thought  of  the  parting  that 
awaited  him.  But  when  he  reached  his  destination  he 
found  himself  so  overwhelmed  with  the  rush  of  prepara- 
tion and  with  the  strenuous  daily  grind  of  training  that 
he  had  no  time  nor  energy  left  for  anything  but  his  work. 
A  change,  too,  was  coming  swiftly  over  the  heart  of 
Canada  and  over  his  own  heart.  The  tales  of  Belgian 
atrocities,  at  first  rejected  as  impossible,  but  afterwards 
confirmed  by  the  Bryce  Commission  and  by  many  private 
letters,  kindled  in  Canadian  hearts  a  passion  of  furious 
longing  to  wipe  from  the  face  of  the  earth  a  system  that 
produced  such  horrors.  Women  who,  with  instincts  na- 
tive of  their  kind,  had  at  the  first  sought  how  they  might 
with  honour  keep  back  their  men  from  the  perils  of  war, 
now  in  their  compassion  for  women  thus  relentlessly  out- 
raged and  for  their  tender  babes  pitilessly  mangled,  con- 
sulted chiefly  how  they  might  best  fit  their  men  for  the 
high  and  holy  mission  of  justice  for  the  wronged  and 
protection  £  ~r  t:.e  heMess.  It  was  this  that  wrought  ii 


MAJOR  AND  MAJOR'S  WIFE    367 

Larry  a  fury  of  devotion  to  his  duty.  Night  and  day 
he  gave  himself  to  his  training  with  his  concentrated 
powers  of  body,  mind  and  soul,  till  he  stood  head  and 
shoulders  above  the  members  of  the  Officers'  Training 
Corps  at  Calgary. 

After  six  weeks  of  strenuous  grind  Larry  was  ordered 
to  report  to  his  battalion  at  Wolf  Willow.  A  new  world 
awaited  him  there,  a  world  recreated  by  the  mysterious 
alchemy  of  war,  a  world  in  which  men  and  women  moved 
amid  high  ideals  and  lofty  purposes,  a  world  where  the 
dominant  note  was  sacrifice  and  the  regnant  motive  duty. 

Nora  met  him  at  the  station  in  her  own  car,  which,  in 
view  of  her  activity  in  connection  with  the  mine  where 
her  father  was  now  manager,  the  directors  had  placed  at 
her  disposal. 

"How  big  and  fine  you  look,  Larry!  You  must  be 
pounds  heavier,"  she  cried,  viewing  him  from  afar. 

"Twenty  pounds,  and  hard  as  hickory.  Never  so  fit 
in  my  life,"  replied  her  brother,  who  was  indeed  a  pic- 
ture of  splendid  and  vigorous  health. 

"You  are  perfectly  astonishing.  But  everything  is 
astonishing  these  days.  Why,  even  father,  till  he  broke 
his  leg " 

"Broke  his  leg?" 

"There  was  no  use  worrying  you  about  it.  A  week 
ago,  while  he  was  pottering  about  the  mine,  he  slipped 
down  a  ladder  and  broke  his  leg.  He  will  probably  stay 
where  he  belongs  now — in  the  office.  But  father  is  as 
splendid  as  any  one  could  well  be.  He  has  gripped  that 
mine  business  hard,  and  even  Switzer  in  his  palmiest 
days  could  not  get  better  results.  He  has  quite  an  ex- 
traordinary way  with  the  men,  and  that  is  something 
these  days,  when  men  are  almost  impossible  to  get." 

"And  mother?"  enquired  Larry. 

"Mother  is  equally  surprising.  But  you  will  see  for 
yourself.  And  dear  old  Kathleen.  She  is  at  it  day  and 
night.  They  made  her  President  of  the  Women's  War 
Association,  and  she  is Well,  it  is  quite  beyond 


368  THE  MAJOR 

words.  I  can't  talk  about  it,  that's  all."  Nora's  voice 
grew  unsteady  and  she  took  refuge  in  silence.  After  a 
few  moments  she  went  on:  "And  she  has  had  the  most 
beautiful  letter  from  jack's  colonel.  It  was  on  the  Big 
Retreat  from  Mons  that  he  was  killed  at  the  great  fight 
at  Landrecies.  You  know  about  that,  Larry?" 

"No,  never  heard  anything;  I  know  really  nothing  of 
that  retreat,"  said  Larry. 

"Well,  we  have  had  letters  about  it.  It  must  have 
been  great.  Oh,  it  will  be  a  glorious  tale  some  day. 
They  began  the  fight,  only  seventy-five  thousand  of  the 
British — think  of  it !  with  two  hundred  guns  against  four 
hundred  thousand  Germans  with  six  hundred  guns. 
They  began  the  fight  on  a  Saturday.  The  French  on 
both  their  flanks  gave  way.  One  army  on  each  flank 
trying  to  hem  them  in  and  an  army  in  front  pounding  the 
life  out  of  them.  They  fought  all  Saturday.  They  began 
the  retreat  on  Saturday  night,  fought  again  Sunday, 
marched  Sunday  night,  they  fought  Monday  and  marched 
Monday  night,  fought  Tuesday,  and  marched  Tuesday 
night.  The  letter  said  they  staggered  down  the  roads 
like  drunken  men.  Wednesday,  dead  beat,  they  fought 
again — and  against  ever  fresh  masses  of  men,  remem- 
ber. Wednesday  night  one  corps  came  to  Landrecies. 
At  half -past  nine  they  were  all  asleep  in  billets.  At  ten 
o'clock  a  perfectly  fresh  army  of  the  enemy,  field  guns 
backing  them  up  behind,  machine  guns  in  front,  bore 
down  the  streets  into  the  village.  But  those  wonderful 
Coldstreams  and  Grenadiers  and  Highlanders  just  filled 
the  streets  and  every  man  for  himself  poured  in  rifle 
fire,  and  every  machine  gun  fired  into  the  enemy  masses, 
smashed  the  attack  and  then  they  went  at  them  with  the 
bayonet  and  flung  them  back.  Again  and  again  through- 
out the  night  this  thing  was  repeated  until  the  Germans 
drew  off,  leaving  five  hundred  dead  before  the  village 
and  in  its  streets.  It  was  in  the  last  bayonet  charge, 
when  leading  his  men,  that  Jack  was  killed." 

"My  God !"  cried  Larry.    "What  a  great  death !" 


MAJOR  AND  MAJOR'S  WIFE    369 

"And  so  Kathleen  goes  about  with  her  head  high  and 
Sybil,  too, — Mrs.  Waring-Gaunt,  you  know,"  continued 
Nora,  "she  is  just  like  the  others.  She  never  thinks  of 
herself  and  her  two  little  kids  who  are  going  to  be  left 
behind  but  she  is  busy  getting  her  husband  ready  and 
helping  to  outfit  his  men,  as  all  the  women  are,  with  socks 
and  mits  and  all  the  re.=t  of  it.  Before  Tom  made  up  his 
mind  to  raise  the  battalion  they  were  both  wretched,  but 
now  they  are  both  cheery  as  crickets  with  a  kind  of  ex- 
alted cheeriness  that  makes  one  feel  like  hugging  the 
dear  things.  And,  Larry,  there  won't  be  a  man  left  in 
this  whole  country  if  the  war  keeps  on  except  old  Mc- 
Tavish,  who  is  furious  because  they  won't  take  him  and 
who  declares  he  is  going  on  his  own.  Poor  Mr.  Rhye 
is  feeling  so  badly.  He  was  rejected — heart  trouble, 
though  I  think  he  is  more  likely  to  injure  himself  here 
preaching  as  he  does  than  at  the  war." 

"And  yourself,  Nora?  Carrying  the  whole  load,  I. 
suppose, — ranch,  and  now  this  mine.  You  are  getting 
thin,  I  see." 

"No  fear,"  said  Nora.  "Joe  is  really  doing  awfully 
well  on  the  ranch.  He  practically  takes  charge.  By  the 
way,  Sam  has  enlisted.  He  says  he  is  going  to  stick  to 
you.  He  is  going  to  be  your  batman.  And  as  for  the 
mine,  since  father's  accident  Mr.  Wakeham  has  been 
very  kind.  If  he  were  not  an  American  he  would  have 
enlisted  before  this." 

"Oh!  he  would,  eh?" 

"He  would,  or  he  would  not  be  coming  about  Lakeside 
Farm." 

"Then  he  does  come  about  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Nora  with  an  exaggerated  air  of  indif- 
ference. "He  would  be  rather  a  nuisance  if  he  were  not 
so  awfully  useful  and  so  jolly.  After  all,  I  do  not  see 
what  we  should  have  done  without  him." 

"Ah,  a  good  man  is  Dean." 

"I  had  a  letter  from  Jane  this  week,"  continued  Nora, 
changing  the  subject  abruptly. 


370  THE  MAJOR 

"I  have  not  heard  for  two  weeks,"  said  Larry. 

"Then  you  have  not  heard  about  Scuddy.  Poor  Scud- 
dy !  But  why  say  'poor'  Scuddy  ?  He  was  doing  his  duty. 
It  was  a  patrol  party.  He  was  scouting  and  ran  into  an 
enemy  patrol  and  was  instantly  killed.  The  poor  girl, 
Helen  Brookes,  I  think  it  is." 

"Helen  Brookes !"  exclaimed  Larry. 

"Yes,  Jane  says  you  knew  her.  She  was  engaged  to 
Scuddy.  And  Scallons  is  gone  too." 

"Scallons!" 

"And  Smart,  Frank  Smart." 

"Frank  Smart !  Oh !  his  poor  mother !  My  God,  this 
war  is  awful  and  grows  more  awful  every  day." 

"Jane  says  Mrs.  Smart  is  at  every  meeting  of  the 
Women's  Association,  quiet  and  steady,  just  like  our 
Kathleen.  Oh,  Larry,  how  can  they  do  it?  If  my  hus- 
band— if  I  had  one — were  killed  I  could  not,  I  just  could 
not,  bear  it." 

"I  fancy,  little  girl,  you  would  measure  up  like  the 
others.  This  is  a  damnable  business,  but  we  never  knew 
our  women  till  now.  But  the  sooner  that  cursed  race  is 
wiped  off  the  face  of  the  earth  the  better." 

"Why,  Larry,  is  that  you?    I  cannot  believe  my  ears." 

"Yes,  it  is  me.  I  have  come  to  see  that  there  is  no 
possibility  of  peace  or  sanity  for  the  world  till  that  race 
of  mad  militarists  is  destroyed.  I  am  still  a  pacifist,  but, 
thank  God,  no  longer  a  fool.  Is  there  no  other  news 
from  Jane?" 

"Did  you  hear  about  Ramsay  Dunn  ?  Oh,  he  did  splen- 
didly. He  was  wounded ;  got  a  cross  or  something." 

"Did  you  know  that  Mr.  Murray  had  organised  a  bat- 
talion and  is  Lieutenant-Colonel  and  that  Doctor  Brown 
is  organising  a  Field  Ambulance  unit  and  going  out  in 
command  ?" 

"Oh,  that  is  settled,  is  it?  Jane  told  me  it  was  pos- 
sible." 

"Yes,  and  perhaps  Jane  and  Ethel  Murray  will  go 
with  the  Ambulance  Unit.  Oh,  Larry,  is  there  any  way 


MAJOR  AND  MAJOR'S  WIFE    371 

I  might  go?  I  could  do  so  much — drive  a  car,  an  ambu- 
lance, wash,  scrub,  carry  despatches,  anything." 

"By  Jove,  you  would  be  a  good  one!"  exclaimed  her 
brother.  "I  would  like  to  have  you  in  my  company." 

"Couldn't  it  be  worked  in  any  possible  way?"  cried 
Nora. 

But  Larry  made  no  reply.  He  knew  well  that  no 
reply  was  needed.  What  was  her  duty  this  splendid  girl 
would  do,  whether  in  Flanders  or  in  Alberta. 

At  the  door  of  their  home  the  mother  met  them.  As 
her  eyes  fell  upon  her  son  in  his  khaki  uniform  she  gave 
a  little  cry  and  ran  to  him  with  arms  uplifted. 

"Come  right  in  here,"  she  whispered,  and  took  him  to 
the  inner  room.  There  she  drew  him  to  the  bedside  and 
down  upon  his  knees.  With  their  arms  about  each  other 
they  knelt,  mingling  tears  and  sobs  together  till  their 
strength  was  done.  Then  through  the  sobs  the  boy  heard 
her  voice.  "You  gave  him  to  me,"  he  heard  her  whisper, 
not  in  her  ordinary  manner  of  reverent  formal  prayer, 
but  as  if  remonstrating  with  a  friend.  "You  know  you 
gave  him  to  me  and  I  gave  him  back. — I  know  he  is  not 
mine. — But  won't  you  let  me  have  him  for  a  little  while? 
— It  will  not  be  so  very  long. — Yes,  yes,  I  know. 
— I  am  not  holding  him  back. — No,  no,  I  could 
not,  I  would  not  do  that. — Oh,  I  would  not. — What  am  I 
better  than  the  others? — But  you  will  give  him  back  to 
me  again. — There  are  so  many  never  coming  back,  and 
I  have  only  one  boy. — You  will  let  him  come  back. — He 
is  my  baby  boy. — It  is  his  mother  asking." 

Larry  could  bear  it  no  longer.  "Oh,  mother,  mother, 
mother,"  he  cried.  "You  are  breaking  my  heart.  You 
are  breaking  my  heart."  His  sobs  were  shaking  the  bed 
on  which  he  leaned. 

His  mother  lifted  her  head.  "What  is  it,  Lawrence, 
my  boy?"  she  asked  in  surprise.  "What  is  it?"  Her 
voice  was  calm  and  steady.  "We  must  be  steadfast,  my 
boy.  We  must  not  grudge  our  offering.  No,  with  will- 
ing hearts  we  must  bring  our  sacrifice."  She  passed  into 


372  THE  MAJOR 

prayer.  "Thou,  who  didst  give  Thy  Son,  Thine  only 
Son,  to  save  Thy  world,  aid  me  to  give  mine  to  save  our 
world  to-day.  Let  the  vision  of  the  Cross  make  us  both 
strong.  Thou  Cross-bearer,  help  us  to  bear  our  cross." 
With  a  voice  that  never  faltered,  she  poured  forth  her 
prayer  of  sacrifice,  of  thanksgiving,  of  supplication,  till 
serene,  steady,  triumphant,  they  arose  from  their  knees. 
She  was  heard  "in  that  she  feared,"  in  her  surrender  she 
found  victory,  in  her  cross,  peace.  And  that  serene  calm 
of  hers  remained  undisturbed  to  the  very  last. 

There  were  tears  again  at  the  parting,  but  the  tears 
fell  gently,  and  through  them  shone  ever  her  smile. 

A  few  short  days  Larry  spent  at  his  home  moving 
about  among  those  that  were  dearer  to  him  than  his  own 
life,  wondering  the  while  at  their  courage  and  patience 
and  power  to  sacrifice.  In  his  father  he  seemed  to  dis- 
cover a  new  man,  so  concentrated  was  he  in  his  devotion 
to  business,  and  so  wise,  his  only  regret  being  that  he 
could  not  don  the  king's  uniform.  With  Kathleen  he 
spent  many  hours.  Not  once  throughout  all  these  days 
did  she  falter  in  her  steady,  calm  endurance,  and  in  her 
patient  devotion  to  duty.  Without  tears,  without  a  word 
of  repining  against  her  cruel  fate,  with  hardly  a  sugges- 
tion, indeed^  of  her  irreparable  loss,  she  talked  to  him 
of  her  husband  and  of  his  glorious  death. 

After  two  months  an  unexpected  order  called  the  bat- 
talion on  twenty-four  hours'  notice  for  immediate  serv- 
ice over  seas,  and  amid  the  cheers  of  hundreds  of  their 
friends  and  fellow  citizens,  although  women  being  in  the 
majority,  the  cheering  was  not  of  the  best,  they  steamed 
out  of  Melville  Station.  There  were  tears  and  faces 
white  with  heartache,  but  these  only  after  the  last  cheer 
had  been  flung  upon  the  empty  siding  out  of  which  the 
cars  of  the  troop-train  had  passed.  The  tears  and  the 
white  faces  are  for  that  immortal  and  glorious  Army  of 
the  Base,  whose  finer  courage  and  more  heroic  endur- 
ance make  victory  possible  to  the  army  of  the  Fighting 
First  Line. 


MAJOR  AND  MAJOR'S  WIFE    373 

At  Winnipeg  the  train  was  halted  for  a  day  and  a 
night,  where  the  battalion  enjoyed  the  hospitality  of  the 
city  which  never  tires  of  welcoming  and  speeding  on 
the  various  contingents  of  citizen  soldiers  of  the  West 
en  route  for  the  Front.  There  was  a  dinner  and  enter- 
tainment for  the  men.  For  Larry,  because  he  was  Act- 
ing Adjutant,  there  was  no  respite  from  duty  through 
all  the  afternoon  until  the  men  had  been  safely  disposed 
in  the  care  of  those  who  were  to  act  as  their  hosts  at 
dinner.  Then  the  Colonel  took  him  off  to  Jane  and  her 
father,  who  were  waiting  with  their  car  to  take  them 
home. 

"My!  but  you  do  look  fine  in  your  uniform,"  said 
Jane,  "and  so  strong,  and  so  big;  you  have  actually 
grown  taller,  I  believe."  Her  eyes  were  fairly  standing 
out  with  pride  and  joy. 

"Not  much  difference  north  and  south,"  said  Larry, 
"but  east  and  west,  considerable.  And  you,  Jane,  you 
are  looking  better  than  ever.  Whatever  has  happened 
to  you?" 

"Hard  work,"  said  Jane. 

"I  hear  you  are  in  the  Big  Business  up  to  your  neck," 
said  Larry.  "There  is  so  much  to  do,  I  can  well  believe 
it.  And  so  your  father  is  going?  How  splendid  of 
him!" 

"Oh,  every  one  is  doing  what  he  can  do  best.  Father 
will  do  the  ambulance  well." 

"And  I  hear  you  are  going  too." 

"I  do  not  know  about  that,"  said  Jane.  "Isn't  it  aw- 
fully hard  to  tell  just  what  to  do?  I  should  love  to  go, 
but  that  is  the  very  reason  I  wonder  whether  I  should. 
There  is  so  much  to  do  here,  and  there  will  be  more  and 
more  as  we  go  on,  so  many  families  to  look  after,  so 
much  work  to  keep  going ;  work  for  soldiers,  you  know, 
and  for  their  wives  and  children,  and  collecting  money. 
And  it  is  all  so  easy  to  do,  for  every  one  is  eager  to  do 
what  he  can.  I  never  knew  people  could  be  so  splendid, 
Larry,  and  especially  those  who  have  lost  some  one. 


374  THE  MAJOR 

There  is  Mrs.  Smart,  for  instance,  and  poor  Scallan's 
mother,  and  Scuddy's." 

"Jane/'  said  Larry  abruptly,  "I  must  see  Helen.  Can 
we  go  at  once  when  we  take  the  others  home?" 

"I  will  take  you,"  said  Jane.  "I  am  glad  you  can  go. 
Oh,  she  is  lovely,  and  so  sweet,  and  so  brave." 

Leaving  the  Colonel  in  Dr.  Brown's  care,  they  drove  to 
the  home  of  Helen  Brookes. 

"I  dread  seeing  her,"  said  Larry,  as  they  approached 
the  house. 

"Well,  you  need  not  dread  that,"  said  Jane. 

And  after  one  look  at  Helen's  face  Larry  knew  that 
Jane  wras  right.  The  bright  colour  in  the  face,  the  proud 
carriage  of  the  head,  the  saucy  look  in  the  eye,  once  so 
characteristic  of  the  "beauty  queen"  of  the  'Varsity,  were 
all  gone.  But  the  face  was  no  less  beautiful,  the  head 
carried  no  less  proudly,  the  eye  no  less  bright.  There 
was  no  shrinking"  in  her  conversation  from  the  tragic  fact 
of  her  lover's  death.  She  spoke  quite  freely  of  Scuddy's 
work  in  the  battalion,  of  his  place  with  the  men  and  of 
how  they  loved  him,  and  all  with  a  fine,  high  pride  in 
him. 

"The  officers,  from  the  Colonel  down,  have  been  so 
good  to  me,"  she  said.  "They  have  told  me  so  many 
things  about  Harry.  And  the  Sergeants  and  the  Cor- 
porals, every  one  in  his  company,  have  written  me.  They 
are  beautiful  letters.  They  make  me  laugh  and  cry,  but 
I  love  them.  Dear  boys,  how  I  love  them,  and  how  I 
love  to  work  for  them !"  She  showed  Larry  a  thick  bun- 
dle of  letters.  "And  they  all  say  he  was  so  jolly.  I  like 
that,  for  you  know,  being  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  man  in  college 
and  always  keen  about  that  sort  of  thing — I  am  afraid 
I  did  not  help  him  much  in  that  way — he  was  not  so 
fearfully  jolly.  But  now  I  am  glad  he  was  that  kind 
of  a  man,  a  good  man,  I  mean,  in  the  best  way,  and  thaf 
he  was  always  jolly.  One  boy  says,  'He  always  bucked 
me  up  to  do  my  best,'  and  another,  a  Sergeant,  says,  'He 
put  the  fear  of  God  into  the  slackers,'  and  the  Colonel 


MAJOR  AND  MAJOR'S  WIFE    375 

sa-3,  'He  was  a  moral  tonic  in  the  mess,'  and  his  chum 
officer  said,  'He  kept  us  all  jolly  and  clean/  I  love  that. 
So  you  see  I  simply  have  to  buck  up  and  be  jolly  too." 

"Helen,  you  are  wonderful,"  said  Larry,  who  was 
openly  wiping  away  his  tears.  "Scuddy  was  a  big  man, 
a  better  man  I  never  knew,  and  you  are  worthy  of  him." 

They  were  passing  out  of  the  room  when  Helen  pulled 
Larry  back  again.  "Larry,"  she  said,  her  words  coming 
with  breathless  haste,  "don't  wait,  oh,  don't  wait.  Marry 
Jane  before  you  go.  That  is  my  great  regret  to-day. 
Harry  wanted  to  be  married  and  I  did  too.  But  father 
and  mother  did  not  think  it  wise.  They  did  not  know. 
How  could  they?  Oh,  Larry,"  she  suddenly  wrung  her 
hands,  "he  wished  it  so.  Now  I  know  it  would  have 
been  best.  Don't  make  my  mistake,  don't,  Larry.  Don't 
make  my  mistake.  Thank  you  for  coming  to  see  me. 
Good-bye,  Larry,  dear.  You  were  his  best  friend.  He 
loved  you  so."  She  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and 
kissed  him,  hastily  wiped  her  eyes,  and  passed  out  to 
Jane  with  a  smiling  face. 

They  hurried  away,  for  the  hours  in  Winnipeg  were 
short  and  there  was  much  to  do  and  much  to  say. 

"Let  her  go,  Jane,"  said  Larry.  "I  am  in  a  deuce  of 
a  hurry." 

"Why,  Larry,  what  is  the  rush  about  just  now  ?"  said 
Jane  in  a  slightly  grieved  voice. 

"I  have  something  I  must  attend  to  at  once,"  said 
Larry.  "So  let  her  go."  And  Jane  drove  hard,  for  the 
most  part  in  silence,  till  they  reached  home. 

Larry  could  hardly  wait  till  she  had  given  her  car  into 
the  chauffeur's  charge.  They  found  Dr.  Brown  and  the 
Colonel  in  the  study  smoking. 

"Dr.  Brown,"  said  Larry,  in  a  quick,  almost  peremp- 
tory voice,  "may  I  see  you  for  a  moment  or  two  in  your 
office?" 

"Why,  what's  up?  Not  feeling  well  ?"  said  Dr.  Brown 
while  the  others  looked  anxiously  at  him. 


376  THE 

"Oh,  I  am  fit  enough,"  said  Larry  impatiently,  "but  I 
must  see  you." 

"I  am  sure  there  is  something  wrong,"  said  Jane,  "he 
has  been  acting  so  queer  this  evening.  He  is  so  abrupt. 
Is  that  the  military  manner?" 

"Perhaps  so,"  said  the  Colonel.  "Nice  chap,  Larry — 
hard  worker — good  soldier — awfully  keen  in  his  work — 
making  good  too — best  officer  I've  got.  Tell  you  a  secret, 
Jane — expect  promotion  for  him  any  time  now." 

Meantime  Larry  was  facing  Dr.  Brown  in  his  office. 
"Doctor,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  marry  Jane." 

"Good  heavens,  when  did  this  strike  you?" 

"This  evening.    I  want  to  marry  her  right  away." 

"Right  away?    When?" 

"Right  away,  before  I  go.    To-night,  to-morrow." 

"Are  you  mad?  You  cannot  do  things  like  that,  you 
know.  Marry  Jane!  Do  you  know  what  you  are  ask- 
ing?" 

"Yes,  Doctor,  I  know.  But  I  have  just  seen  Helen 
Brookes.  She  is  perfectly  amazing,  perfectly  fine  in  her 
courage  and  all  that,  and  she  told  me  about  Scuddy's 
death  without  a  tear.  But,  Doctor,  there  was  a  point  at 
which  she  broke  all  up.  Do  you  know  when?  When  she 
told  me  of  her  chief  regret,  and  that  was  that  she  and 
Scuddy  had  not  been  married.  They  both  wanted  to 
be  married,  but  her  parents  were  unwilling.  Now  she  re- 
grets it  and  she  will  always  regret  it.  Doctor,  I  see  it 
very  clearly.  I  believe  it  is  better  that  we  should  be  mar- 
ried Who  knows  what  will  come?  So  many  of  the 
chaps  do  not  come  back.  You  are  going  out  too,  I  am 
going  out.  Doctor,  I  feel  that  it  is  best  that  we  should 
be  married." 

"And  what  does  Jane  think  about  it?"  enquired  the 
Doctor,  gazing  at  Larry  in  a  bewildered  manner. 

"Jane!  Good  Lord!  I  don't  know.  I  never  asked 
her!"  Larry  stood  gaping  at  the  Doctor. 

"Well,  upon  my  word,  you  are  a  cool  one!" 

"I  never  thought  of  it,  Doctor,"  said  Larry. 


MAJOR  AND  MAJOR'S  WIFE    377 

"Never  thought  of  it?  Are  you  playing  with  me, 
boy  ?"  said  the  Doctor  sternly. 

"I  will  go  and  see  her,"  said  Larry,  and  he  dashed 
from  the  room.  But  as  he  entered  the  study,  dinner  was 
announced,  and  Larry's  questior  perforce  must  wait. 

Never  was  a  meal  so  long-d  awn-out  and  so  tedious. 
The  Colonel  and  Jane  were  fuJ  of  conversation.  They 
discussed  the  news  from  the  West,  the  mine  and  its  pros- 
pects, the  Lakeside  Farm  and  its  people,  the  Colonel's 
own  family,  the  boys  who  had  enlisted  and  those  who 
were  left  behind,  the  war  spirit  of  Canada,  its  women 
and  their  work  and  their  heroism  (here  the  Colonel 
talked  softly),  the  war  and  its  prospects.  The  Colonel 
was  a  brilliant  conversationalist  when  he  exerted  him- 
self, and  he  told  of  the  way  of  the  war  in  England,  of 
the  awakening  of  the  British  people,  of  the  rush  to  the 
recruiting  offices,  of  the  women's  response.  He  had  tales, 
too,  of  the  British  Expeditionary  Force  which  he  had 
received  in  private  letters,  of  its  glorious  work  in  the 
Great  Retreat  and  afterwards.  Jane  had  to  tell  of  her 
father's  new  Unit,  now  almost  complete,  of  Mr.  Mur- 
ray's new  battalion,  now  in  barracks,  of  the  Patriotic 
Fund  and  how  splendidly  it  was  mounting  up  into  the 
hundreds  of  thousands,  and  of  the  Women's  War  As- 
sociation, of  which  she  was  Secretary,  and  of  the  Young 
Women's  War  Organisation,  of  which  she  was  President ; 
and  all  with  such  animation,  with  such  radiant  smiles, 
with  such  flashing  eyes,  such  keen  swift  play  of  thought 
and  wit  that  Larry  could  hardly  believe  his  eyes  and  ears, 
so  immense  was  the  change  that  had  taken  place  in  Jane 
during  these  ten  months.  He  could  hardly  believe,  as 
he  glanced  across  the  table  at  her  vivid  face,  that  this 
brilliant,  quick-witted,  radiant  girl  was  the  quiet,  demure 
Jane  of  his  college  days,  his  good  comrade,  his  chum, 
whom  he  had  been  inclined  to  patronise.  What  was  this 
that  had  come  to  her?  What  had  released  those  powers 
of  mind  and  soul  which  he  could  now  recognise  as  being 
her  own,  but  which  he  had  never  seen  in  action.  As  in  a 


378  THE  MAJOR 

flash  it  came  to  him  that  this  mighty  change  was  due  to 
the  terribly  energising  touch  of  War.  The  development 
which  in  normal  times  would  have  required  years  to  ac- 
complish, under  the  quickening  impulse  of  this  mighty 
force  which  in  a  day  was  brought  to  bear  upon  the  life 
of  Canada,  this  development  became  a  thing  of  weeks  and 
months  only.  War  ru  d  poured  its  potent  energies 
through  her  soul  and  her  soul  had  responded  in  a  new 
and  marvellous  efflorescence.  Almost  over  night  as  it 
were  the  flower  of  an  exquisite  womanhood,  strong, 
tender,  sweet,  beautiful,  had  burst  into  bloom.  Her  very 
face  was  changed.  The  activities  with  which  her  days 
and  nights  were  filled  had  quickened  all  her  vital  forces 
so  that  the  very  texture  and  colour  of  her  skin  radiated 
the  bloom  of  vigorous  mental  and  physical  health.  Yet 
withal  there  remained  the  same  quick,  wise  sympathy, 
quicker,  wiser  than  before  war's  poignant  sorrows  had 
disciplined  her  heart ;  the  same  far-seeing  vision  that  an- 
ticipated problems  and  planned  for  their  solution;  the 
same  proud  sense  of  honour  that  scorned  things  mean 
and  gave  quick  approval  to  things  high.  As  he  listened 
Larry  felt  himself  small  and  poor  in  comparison  with 
her.  More  than  that  he  had  the  sense  of  being  excluded 
from  her  life.  The  war  and  its  activities,  its  stern  claims, 
its  catastrophic  events  had  taken  possession  of  the  girl's 
whole  soul.  Was  there  a  place  for  him  in  this  new, 
grand  scheme  of  life?  A  new  and  terrible  master  had 
come  into  the  lordship  of  her  heart.  Had  love  yielded 
its  high  place?  To  that  question  Larry  was  determined 
to  have  an  answer  to-night.  To-morrow  he  was  off  to 
the  Front.  The  growing  fury  of  the  war,  its  appalling 
losses,  made  it  increasingly  doubtful  that  he  should  ever 
see  her  face  again.  What  her  answer  would  be  he 
could  not  surely  say.  But  to-night  he  would  have  it 
from  her.  If  "yes"  there  was  time  to-morrow  to  be 
married ;  if  "no"  then  the  more  gladly  he  would  go  to  the 
war. 

After  dinner  the  Doctor  and  the  Colonel  took  their 


MAJOR  AND  MAJOR'S  WIFE     379 

way  to  the  study  to  smoke  and  talk  over  matters  con- 
nected with  military  organisation,  in  regard  to  which  the 
Doctor  confessed  himself  to  be  woefully  ignorant.  Jane 
led  Larry  into  the  library,  where  a  bright  fire  was  burn- 
ing. 

"Awfully  jolly,  this  fire.  We'll  do  without  the  lights," 
said  Larry,  touching  the  switch  and  drawing  their  chairs 
forward  to  the  fire,  wondering  the  while  how  he  should 
get  himself  to  the  point  of  courage  necessary  to  his  pur- 
pose. Had  it  been  a  few  months  ago  how  easy  it  would 
have  been.  He  could  see  himself  with  easy  camaraderie 
put  his  arm  about  Jane  with  never  a  quiver  of  voice  or 
shiver  of  soul,  and  say  to  her,  "Jane,  you  dear,  dear 
thing,  won't  you  marry  me?"  But  at  that  time  he  had 
neither  desire  nor  purpose.  Now  by  some  damnable 
perversity  of  things,  when  heart  and  soul  were  sick  with 
the  longing  for  her,  and  his  purpose  set  to  have  her,  he 
found  himself  nerveless  and  shaking  like  a  silly  girl.  He 
pushed  his  chair  back  so  that,  unaware  to  her,  his  eyes 
could  rest  upon  her  face,  and  planned  his  approach.  He 
would  begin  by  speaking  of  Helen,  of  her  courage,  of 
her  great  loss,  then  of  her  supreme  regret,  at  which 
point  he  would  make  his  plea.  But  Jane  would  give 
him  no  help  at  all.  Silent  she  sat  looking  into  the  fire, 
all  the  vivacity  and  brilliance  of  the  past  hour  gone,  and 
in  its  place  a  gentle,  pensive  sadness.  The  firelight  fell 
on  her  face,  so  changed  from  what  it  had  been  in  those 
pre-war  days,  now  so  long  ago,  yet  so  familiar  and  so 
dear.  To-morrow  at  this  hour  he  would  be  far  down 
the  line  with  his  battalion,  off  for  the  war.  What  lay 
beyond  that  who  could  say?  If  she  should  refuse — 
"God  help  me  then,'  he  groaned  aloud,  unthinking. 

"What  is  it,  Larry?"  she  said,  turning  her  face  quickly 
toward  him. 

"I  was  just  thinking,  Jane,  that  to-morrow  I — that 
is "  He  paused  abruptly. 

"Oh,  Larry,  I  know,  I  know."  Her  hands  went  quick- 
ly to  her  breast.  In  her  eyes  he  saw  a  look  of  pain 


380  THE  MAJOR 

so  acute,  so  pitiful,  that  he  forgot  all  his  plan  of  ap- 
proach. 

"Jane,"  he  cried  in  a  voice  sharp  with  the  intensity 
of  his  feeling. 

In  an  instant  they  were  both  on  their  feet  and  facing 
each  other. 

"Jane,  dear,  dear  Jane,  I  love  you  so,  and  I  want  you 
so."  He  stretched  out  his  arms  to  take  her. 

Startled,  her  face  gone  deadly  pale,  she  put  out  her 
hands  against  his  breast,  pushing  him  away  from  her. 

"Larry!"  she  said.    "Larry,  what  are  you  saying?" 

"Oh,  Jane,  I  am  saying  I  love  you;  with  all  my  heart 
and  soul,  I  love  you  and  I  want  you,  Jane.  Don't  you 
love  me  a  bit,  even  a  little  bit?" 

Slowly  her  arms  dropped  to  her  side.  "You  love  me, 
Larry?"  she  whispered.  Her  eyes  began  to  glow  like 
stars  in  a  pool  of  water,  deep  and  lustrous,  her  lips  to 
quiver.  "You  love  me,  Larry,  and  you  want  me  to — 
to " 

"Yes,  Jane,  I  want  you  to  be  my  wife." 

"Your  wife,  Larry?"  she  whispered,  coming  a  little 
closer  to  him.  "Oh,  Larry,"  she  laid  her  hands  upon 
his  breast,  '  L  love  you  so,  and  I  have  loved  you  so  long." 
The  lustrous  eyes  were  misty,  but  they  looked  steadily 
into  his. 

"Dear  heart,  dear  love,"  he  said,  drawing  her  close 
to  him  and  still  gazing  into  her  eyes. 

She  wound  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  with  lips 
slightly  parted  lifted  her  face  to  his. 

"Jane,  Jane,  you  wonderful  girl,"  he  said,  and  kissed 
the  parted  lips,  while  about  them  heaven  opened  and 
took  them  to  its  bosom. 

When  they  had  come  back  to  earth  Larry  suddenly  re- 
called his  conversation  v/ith  her  father.  "Jane,"  he  said, 
"when  shall  we  be  married?  I  must  tell  your  father." 

"Married?"  said  Jane  in  a  voice  of  despair.  "Not  till 
you  return,  Larry."  Then  she  clung  to  him  trembling. 


381 

"Oh,  why  were  you  so  slow,  Larry?  Why  did  you  delay 
so  long?" 

"Slow?'*  cried  Larry.  "Well,  we  can  make  up  for  it 
now."  He  looked  at  his  watch.  "It's  nine  o'clock,  Jane. 
We  can  be  married  to-night." 

"Nonsense,  you  silly  boy!" 

"Then  to-morrow  we  shall  be  married,  I  swear.  We 
won't  make  Helen's  mistake."  And  he  told  her  of  Helen 
Brookes's  supreme  regret.  "We  won't  make  that  mis- 
take, Jane.  To-morrow!  To-morrow!  To-morrow  it 
will  be!" 

"But,  Larry,  listen.    Papa " 

"Your  father  will  agree." 

"And  my  clothes?" 

"Qothes?  You  don't  need  any.  What  you  have  on 
will  do." 

"This  old  thing?" 

"Perfectly  lovely,  perfectly  splendid.  Never  will  you 
wear  anything  so  lovely  as  this." 

"And  then,  Larry,  what  should  I  do?  Where  would 
I  go?  You  are  going  off." 

"And  you  will  come  with  me." 

But  Jane's  wise  head  was  thinking  swiftly.  "I  might 
come  across  with  Papa,"  she  said.  "We  were  think- 
ing  " 

"No,"  cried  Larry.  "You  come  with  me.  He  will 
follow  and  pick  you  up  in  London.  Hurryi  come  along 
and  tell  him." 

"But,  Larry,  this  is  awful." 

"Splendid,  glorious,  come  along.  We'll  settle  all  that 
later." 

He  dragged  her,  laughing,  blushing,  almost  weeping, 
to  the  study.  "She  says  she  will  do  it  to-morrow,  sir," 
he  announced  as  he  pushed  open  the  door. 

"What  do  you  say?"  said  the  Doctor,  gazing  open- 
mouthed  at  him. 

"She  says  she  will  marry  me  to-morrow,"  he  pro- 
claimed as  if  announcing  a  stupendous  victory. 


382  THE  MAJOR 

"She  does !"  said  the  Doctor,  still  agKast. 

"Good  heavens!"  exclaimed  the  Colonel.  "To-mor- 
row ?  We  are  off  to-morrow !" 

Larry  swung  upon  him  eagerly.  "Before  we  go,  sir. 
There  is  lots  of  time.  You  see  we  do  not  pull  out  until 
after  three.  We  have  all  the  morning,  if  you  could 
spare  me  an  hour  or  so.  We  could  get  married,  and  she 
would  just  come  along  with  us,  sir." 

Jane  gasped.    "With  all  those  men?" 

"Good  Lord!"  exclaimed  the  Colonel.  "The  boy  is 
mad." 

"We  might  perhaps  take  the  later  train,"  suggested 
Jane  demurely.  "But,  of  course,  Papa,  I  have  never 
agreed  at  all,"  she  added  quickly,  turning  to  her  father. 

"That  settles  it,  I  believe,"  said  Dr.  Brown.  "Colonel, 
what  do  you  say?  Can  it  be  done?" 

"Done?"  shouted  the  Colonel.  "Of  course,  it  can  be 
done.  Military  wedding,  guard  of  honour,  band,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  Proper  style,  first  in  the  regiment, 
eh,  what?" 

"But  nothing  is  ready,"  said  Jane,  appalled  at  the  rush 
of  events.  "Not  a  dress,  not  a  bridesmaid,  nothing." 

"You  have  got  a  'phone,"  cried  Larry,  gloriously  ob- 
livious of  difficulties.  "Tell  everybody.  Oh,  sir,"  he 
said,  turning  to  Dr.  Brown  with  hand  outstretched,  "I 
hope  you  will  let  her  come.  I  promise  you  I  will  be 
good  to  her." 

Dr.  Brown  looked  at  the  young  man  gravely,  almost 
sadly,  then  at  his  daughter.  With  a  quick  pang  he  noted 
the  new  look  in  her  eyes.  He  put  out  his  hand  to  her 
and  drew  her  toward  him. 

"Dear  child,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  sounded  hoarse 
and  strained,  "how  like  you  are  to  your  mother  to-night." 
Her  arms  went  quickly  about  his  neck.  He  held  her 
close  to  him  for  a  few  moments ;  then  loosing  her  arms, 
he  pushed  her  gently  toward  Larry,  saying,  "Boy,  I  give 
her  to  you.  As  you  deal  with  her,  so  may  God  deal 
with  you." 


MAJOR  AND  MAJOR'S  WIFE   383 

"Amen,"  said  Larry  solemnly,  taking  her  hand  in  his. 

Never  was  such  a  wedding  in  Winnipeg!  Nothing 
was  lacking  to  make  it  perfectly,  gloriously,  triumphantly 
complete.  There  was  a  wedding  dress,  and  a  bridal  veil 
with  orange  blossoms.  There  were  wedding  gifts,  for 
somehow,  no  one  ever  knew  how,  the  morning  Times 
had  got  the  news.  There  was  a  church  crowded  with 
friends  to  wish  them  well,  and  the  regimental  band  with 
a  guard  of  honour,  under  whose  arched  swords  the  bride 
and  groom  went  forth.  Never  had  the  Reverend  An- 
drew McPherson  been  so  happy  ii>  his  marriage  service. 
Never  was  such  a  wedding  breakfast  with  toasts  and 
telegrams  from  absent  friends,  from  Chicago,  and  from 
the  Lakeside  Farm  in  response  to  Larry's  announcements 
by  wire.  Two  of  these  excited  wild  enthusiasm.  One 
read,  "Happy  days.  Nora  and  I  following  your  good  ex- 
ample. See  you  later  in  France.  Signed,  Dean."  The 
other,  from  the  Minister  of  Militia  at  Ottawa  to  Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel Waring-Gaunt.  "Your  suggestion  ap- 
proved. Captain  Gwynne  gazetted  to-morrow  as  Major. 
Signed,  Sam  Hughes." 

"Ladies  and  Gentlemen,"  cried  the  Colonel,  beaming 
upon  the  company,  "allow  me  to  propose  long  life  and 
many  happy  days  for  the  Major  and  the  Major's  wife." 
And  as  they  drank  with  tumultuous  acclaim,  Larry  turned 
and,  looking  upon  the  radiant  face  at  his  side,  whispered : 

"Jane,  did  you  hear  what  he  said  ?" 

"Yes,"  whispered  Jane.     "He  said  'the  Major.' : 

"That's  nothing,"  said  Larry,  "but  he  said  'the  Major's 
wife!'" 

And  so  together  they  went  to  the  war. 


THE  END 


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Clutch  of  Circumstance,  The.    By  Marjorie  Benton  Cooke. 

Coast  of  Adventure,  The.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Coming  of  Cassidy,  The.    By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Coming  of  the  Law,  The.    By  Chas.  A.  Seltzer. 

Conquest  of  Canaan,  The.    By  Booth  Tarkington. 

Conspirators,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Court  of  Inquiry,  A.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Cow  Puncher,  The.    By  Robert  J.  C.  Stead. 

Crimson  Gardenia,  The,  and  Other  Tales  of  Adventure.    By 

Rex  Beach. 

Cross  Currents.    By  Author  of  "Pollyanna." 
Cry  in  the  Wilderness,  A.    By  Mary  E.  Waller. 

Danger,  And  Other  Stories.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 
Dark  Hollow,  The.     By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 
Dark  Star,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 
Daughter  Pays;  The.    By  Mrs.  Baillie  Reynolds. 
Day  of  Days,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
Depot  Master,  The.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 
Desired  Woman,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 


DATE  DUE 


PRINTED  IN  U.S.A. 


A    000811  639    4 


